


Teenage Dream

by matildajones



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Actor Derek, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Human, Amnesia, Angst, M/M, Married Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Memory Loss, Pining, Writer Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-08-07
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:51:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matildajones/pseuds/matildajones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i> "I’m married. I’m married to Derek Hale,” Stiles says. Everything seems to hit him at once. He pushes aside the fact there’s a celebrity sitting right next to him, and then thinks of why the fuck he can’t remember him, why he doesn’t know who he’s married to, and how much time he must have lost.</i><br/>--<br/>After an accident, Stiles wakes up to what can only be a dream. He has money, he has fame, he has award winning actor Derek Hale as his husband. It quickly seems more and more like a nightmare because Stiles doesn't remember getting any of it - and it's hard to accept the reality that Derek can still love him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much to [bleep0bleep](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com), who has been super lovely and helpful :)

He lies in a hospital bed for what seems like hours before a nurse stumbles in on him. Stiles’ body feels heavy, sore, and the dry ache in his throat hasn’t gone away. It’s the second time he’s woken in this room, and he’s already has his moment of panic at being alone before he thankfully fell into unconsciousness.

“Oh, gosh, you’re awake,” she stammers, almost tripping up on her own feet. Her scrubs are clean and Stiles sees the blush on her cheeks, vaguely questioning it, but the woman seems to get herself together and she gets him a glass of water.

The machine next to him beeps, the pitch low and the sound steady, and now that his throat isn’t burning he manages to fall back asleep.

\--

When he wakes again his father is there, sitting at the edge of the room. The hope on his face turns to careful relief, and then he’s on his feet before both his hands grip one of Stiles’.

“Hey, hey, kid,” there are tears in his eyes. He looks a lot older than Stiles remembers, with more lines on his face. Stiles hates to have put him through all this again, after his mother. “God, thank God you woke up.”

Stiles tries for a smile. “Dad,” he croaks.

“Just rest, Stiles, please,” his father says, glaring at him when he tries to sit up. It feels like Stiles has been here for years, body stiff and sore all over.

“How long have I been here?” Stiles manages, before another wave of tiredness hits him.

His father puts a hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to stay down. “Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You’re awake now and that’s all that matters.”

His face is wet with tears and Stiles has the feeling he’s hiding something from him. Whatever had gotten him in here can’t have been small or easy.

“Derek’s going to be here soon, I promise.”

Stiles’ eyes have fallen shut but he opens them again, suddenly confused. “Derek?” he says, but his father shushes him and tells Stiles to get more sleep.

\--

There’s something wrong.

It starts when Stiles looks down and sees a ring on his finger, gold and almost new. His heart fucking leaps and he searches the room with frenzied eyes, wondering if someone is playing a joke on him. His father is asleep in the corner of the room, a thin blanket over his shoulders and snoring loud. Stiles wants to wake him, wants answers, wants to know why he’s even fucking in here but he can’t move.

Derek.

He’s not stupid and now he’s already had too long to think about this, his lungs working hard as he tries to understand why he has a wedding ring on his finger. His pulse must skyrocket because seconds later a man in a white coat is stepping into his room, a calm smile on his face. Stiles doesn’t trust it.

“Mr. Stilinski,” he says.

“How long have I been in here?” Stiles demands.

The doctor’s expression wavers but he steps forward, voice soft and smooth and meant for calming, but it does little to settle Stiles’ nerves. They tell him he’s been in here three months, that there was a car accident while Stiles was driving alone, that he got hit by a drunk driver.

Stiles’ father wakes up and he offers his own version of events. They don’t mention a Derek again. Stiles is too freaked out to acknowledge the ring on his finger and he knows the thought is crazy, but maybe, maybe he’ll figure things out when he sees him.

Stiles will be able to put everything together when he sees the person he married. It can’t be any more complicated than that, it can’t, because Stiles has already lost three months of his life and he can’t bear to have lost anymore.

The doctor is in the middle of doing his checkups when there’s some movement by the door. They hear a gasp, everyone looks up, and there’s a very, very handsome man standing there, his lips parted in disbelief.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” the doctor says, taking a step back and gawking at the man, before he tries to maintain an air of professionalism and exits the room.

The man strides forward, wearing a suit and a rumpled white shirt, a bow tie hanging loose around his neck. Oh God. This is him, this is Derek, and Stiles’ skin grows hot because it’s wrong, all wrong.

“Fuck, Stiles, I’m sorry I wasn’t here –” His face looks distressed, tired, and Stiles stops listening. There are tears in the man’s eyes and over his cheeks, running into dark stubble. He hovers by the bed for a second too long before he decides to sit down. Stiles is still.

It’s Derek Hale.

Derek Hale is in his hospital room, reaching for his hands. His grip is shaky before warm palms slide up and down Stiles’ arms, offering comfort. Stiles tries to sit up properly and it’s an invitation for Derek Hale to wrap his arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a gentle, yet strangely intense hug.

Stiles closes his eyes, squeezes them tight and tries to make sense of it all. Fuck. He can’t do this, it’s too hard. He knows the man in front of him, but he doesn’t, he really doesn’t.

“God, Stiles, I missed you so much – you have no idea, it was,” he clears his throat, voice moving to a hoarse whisper. “It was so hard without you. I’m so happy; I can’t believe you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Stiles catches a glimpse of his father over Derek’s shoulder, and he has a fond smile on his face. Stiles stays quiet, trying not to look horrified and trying to figure this mess out. Nothing is making sense to him. Eventually Derek gently pulls back and looks Stiles in the eye, thumb against his cheek and expression looking softer than Stiles has ever seen it, anywhere.

“Fuck, you’re hotter in person,” Stiles blurts out.

Derek’s face scrunches up, but he tries for a smile. “So are you,” he says, biting his lip. “Although right now you look a bit worse for wear.”

Stiles is still too confused to look affronted, but he must manage it because Derek gives a quiet chuckle. Stiles quickly realizes he’s out of his depth, only one second away from freaking the fuck out, and he pulls back, keeping his hands to himself. Derek frowns, but takes away his touch.

“Stiles?”

“Um,” he says, trying to figure out how to break the news. He looks down at Derek’s hand and sees a similar ring to the one he has on his own finger. He stares at it as he speaks. “I don’t, um, you’re Derek Hale. You were in that weird TV show when you were a teenager. You’ve won a fucking Oscar, right?”

Derek blinks.

Stiles scrunches his eyes together. “Are we married?”

It takes a long, long, moment before Derek responds. Finally, he nods.

Stiles leans back on his pillows. “Fuck, I’m married. I’m married. I’m married to Derek Hale,” he says, staring at the ceiling. Everything seems to hit him at once. He pushes aside the fact there’s a celebrity sitting right next to him, on the edge of his bed, and then thinks of why the fuck he can’t remember him, why he doesn’t know who he’s married to, and how much time he must have lost.

His head swims, and he chances a look at Derek but it’s a bad idea. He looks so lost, and broken, confused, fingers twitching at his sides and shoulders curved over.

Stiles feels like he can’t breathe, and slowly, slowly, Derek seems to back away.

There’s a hand on Derek’s shoulder, and it belongs to Stiles’ father. “Son, do you want me to get the doctor, or should you?”

Derek snaps out of it. He takes another look at Stiles, whose breaths are coming in too fast as he tries to fight off a panic attack, his sight gone fuzzy.

“I’ll go.”

Stiles’ father sits on the edge of the bed, offering soothing words. He manages to calm Stiles down a little and by the time the doctor comes in his vision has cleared. Derek stays, back pressed against the far wall.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Mr Stilinski, okay?”

Stiles doesn’t even try to stop himself from glaring.

\--

They’ve sat him down with some water and another blanket. Stiles’ father had ushered Derek out of the room, looking pained, and Stiles was at least glad that they didn’t seem to hate each other. When they return Derek’s face looks less flushed, but his frown is still deep. He keeps his gaze away as Stiles watches him, a little eagerly.

He remembers last seeing that face across his television screen, as the man walked up some steps to receive an award onstage. Derek’s prettier now than he had been then, even if his eyes look dead and lost.

“Is it...okay if I’m here?” Derek says. “While they ask you questions?”

Stiles shrugs. His mouth waters a little, and he’s still trying to get over the fact that Derek Hale, Oscar winner, is standing in front of him.

They ask him what the last thing he remembers is. Fuck, he doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even remember getting into the car that crashed three months ago.

“Uh, Scott’s birthday? I guess? We went to the beach and hired this shitty cabin and it smelt so bad. We got drunk. We had a good time.” Stiles looks up. “Where’s Scott? Is he here?”

“I’ve called him,” his father says. “You’re still good friends.”

Having to be told that sends a chill down Stiles’ spine.

“And the date? How old are you?” asks the doctor, writing everything down.

“Twenty one? I had my birthday...” Even as he says it, Stiles doesn’t feel like he’s twenty one. He really, really doesn’t, and he has to close his eyes as he asks how old he really is.

The doctor hesitates. “Twenty seven. You’re twenty seven.”

Stiles leans over the bed and throws up.

\--

Apparently it’s a miracle that he’s alive, that he even woke up. It doesn’t feel that way to Stiles because as far as he knows, he’s forgotten a good portion of his life. He doesn’t remember graduating even though he was so close to it; he doesn’t remember his father retiring, after Stiles moved to New York.

The air is strained as they wait for the doctor to do more tests and ask more questions. It seems to take forever and Derek is silent, lip quivering as if he’s trying to stop himself from breaking down. Stiles hates it. He hates that he doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t quite understand why there’s so much concern on Derek’s face.

“I’m sure I don’t have to remind you,” Stiles’ father says, standing up. He folds his arms and stares at both the nurse and the doctor. “Of patient confidentiality. If my son’s condition gets out you’ll be sure I’ll be suing this hospital into the ground.”

Stiles snorts. “Dad, relax. No one’s going to care.”

Derek stares at him and Stiles fidgets under his gaze. “They will,” he says, voice surprisingly low. Stiles realizes he’s barely heard Derek talk, he’s just been this steady presence in the corner of the room while they try to figure out the extent of his injuries.

“Right,” says Stiles. “You’re you.”

Derek meets Stiles’ father’s eyes. He looks desperate but Stiles’ father gives a minute shake of his head, leaving Derek with a grimace on his face. Stiles watches as Derek picks up the fancy jacket he came in with, and he walks out of the hospital room without another word.

The doctor clears his throat. “I’m sure that won’t happen, Mr Stilinski. This hospital has a very good reputation and your son should be very comfortable staying here. Your son’s condition won’t leave the walls of this hospital.”

“It better not,” Stiles’ father says, voice hard. Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes, but a prickling sensation moves over his skin, and he feels like there is, yet again, something else that he’s missed.

\--

The next day when he wakes up, Derek is sitting there with his hair wet, wearing jeans and a soft, grey shirt. He’s looking down at his hands, thumb running along the smooth band on his finger. Stiles moves and the sheets rustle, Derek’s gaze snapping up.

Stiles coughs awkwardly.

“Morning,” Derek says, voice resigned.

“I see you’re actually wearing normal clothes.”

He gives Stiles a weak smile. “I was at some stupid party for this new contract I’ve signed. I didn’t really want to be there, but it’s the first thing since,” Derek stops his quiet words, “Since your accident. I wish I was here sooner.”

Stiles pauses. “It’s not like I was missing you, anyway.”

Derek abruptly turns his head to the side, away from Stiles. He rubs his eyes, shoulders tensing, and Stiles didn’t mean to be so blunt but he doesn’t feel nearly as guilty about it as he should. Everything’s all so surreal, to the point where he doesn’t care about what he says.

“Do you need anything?” Derek says. Stiles shakes his head. “Okay, I’ll go get the doctor.”

They’re pleased he remembers everything from the day before. Derek barely leaves his side even though they say hardly anything to each other, and Stiles can feel Derek’s gaze on him, watching him when he talks or whenever he moves around.

They tell him he is suffering from amnesia, and that his episodic memory has been the most affected. He still remembers where he’s from, what he studied, general knowledge, how to do math, who Madonna is. He remembers Derek Hale, after all.

Just not the real him, the him sitting in Stiles’ hospital room trying to keep his feelings to himself but failing miserably.

“Can I get them back?” Stiles asks.

Derek shuffles closer, looking surprised. “You’d want that? You’d want everything back?”

Stiles groans, resisting the urge to glare at him. “I think everything would be a whole lot easier for me, wouldn’t it?” he snaps.

“Of course,” Derek says, voice flat. He seems to shrink.

“Can I get them all back?” Stiles repeats.

The doctor hesitates. “We can try jogging your memories, letting you look at significant objects that might help you remember certain events. We can also send you to therapy, but I doubt it, Mr Stilinski. I wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

Stiles turns away. His face goes blank and he refuses to answer any more questions. Derek looks just as miserable, hope fading, their life together fading. Stiles can see it disappearing, even though he never lived it.

He’s so fucking torn by the fact that it’s Derek Hale sitting before him and the fact Stiles has no idea who he is. That he probably knows way too much about Stiles than is comfortable. Despite how terrible he looks, sitting there dejectedly, bags under his eyes, he’s still that gorgeous movie star. He’s still the actor that has graced many red carpets, that Stiles had admired, and that many girls wanted to marry.

He tries not to get too lost in his thoughts, but it’s a hard thing when everything’s so complicated. The doctor is trying not to shock him, Derek’s staying quiet, his father is a supportive presence but he doesn’t have all the answers. He hates this, he hates it, and something tells Stiles it’s only going to get harder. He’s close to panicking, but then he’s broken from it all when he hears -

“Stiles!”

He turns to the door and he can’t stop the grin that pulls onto his face. Scott is there, looking ecstatic, and rushing towards the bed. Stiles laughs, reaching for his friend and then they’re hugging.

“You’re awake, I can’t believe it,” he says, over and over again, squeezing Stiles tight.

“Dude,” Stiles says, when they pull away from each other. “When did you get a beard?” He pokes at it and Scott turns confused, knocking Stiles’ hand away. Stiles sighs. “Didn’t they tell you? I’ve lost my memories!”

He tries to sound cheerful, but it falls flat. Scott is frowning and he looks around the room and finds Derek. Derek stands and smiles weakly, eyelashes long as he stares at the foot of Stiles’ bed.

Scott lowers his voice. “Yeah, they kind of told me. But I thought they meant like, the last three months. Do you, I mean...Derek?”

Stiles shakes his head, and shrugs. He’s surprised when Scott gets up from the bed and walks around to Derek, one hand reaching out to his shoulder.

“God, I’m so sorry, Derek,” he says, and then Scott’s hugging him as Stiles stares. Derek seems surprised too, stiffening before he grips Scott tight. The embrace lasts longer than the one Scott gave Stiles, and he whispers to Derek, body sighing when he gets his answers.

Scott smiles as he pulls back. “Why don’t you get Stiles’ Dad? He’s just coming up; he picked me up from the airport.”

Derek nods, casts one look at Stiles before he walks away.

“You don’t remember him at all!”

Stiles huffs. “It’s not my fault. He’s just some celebrity to me.”

Scott looks pained. He glances down at Stiles’ hand and sees that the wedding ring is still there, sitting on his finger and catching the light. He sighs in relief before smiling cheekily, taking a seat on the foot of Stiles’ bed.

“What’s he like?” he asks.

“Fine,” Stiles says.

“Do you like him?”

“I just met him,” Stiles says, rearranging himself so that Scott doesn’t have to sit on his feet. He’s not sure what to think of Scott getting along with Derek, because Scott’s mostly disliked the people Stiles has gone out with, not that there’s been many. “Besides, he hovers a lot.”

“He’s worried about you.”

“Because he loves me,” scoffs Stiles. Scott raises an eyebrow, scratching at his trimmed beard. His hair is longer than it was when they were in college and he suits it. He looks more carefree than when he’d been balancing two jobs and full time study.

They talk and talk, about easy things, and just before the other two arrive, Stiles catches his friend’s hand and groans at what he finds. “God. I’m not the only one who got married, am I?”

Scott grins. “No,” he chuckles. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

\--

Scott still lives in Beacon Hills, in an apartment near his mother. He keeps Stiles’ father company at least twice a week and Stiles is glad that even if he left, there was someone else to stay in Beacon Hills and look after his father.

Derek gives them space. He’s gone for two hours and during that time Stiles is only told about Scott’s life or his father’s life and definitely not his own. It’s too hard to hear about himself, and there are more than a few awkward pauses when things don’t match up.

Scott talks to him like they haven’t seen each other in months, but to Stiles it’s like any other week. Scott’s always been around and they studied at the same college, went to the same stupid parties.

“Dad told me he’s not at the station anymore?” Stiles says. His father is sitting on one of the chairs, half listening to them.

Scott shakes his head. “No, he retired after he got shot.”

Stiles’ mouth drops open. “What? He got shot?” He yells.

“Shit, sorry, I keep forgetting...um, he’s fine, obviously,” Scott says sheepishly, and Stiles glares at his father who, eyebrow raised, taps his shoulder and shrugs.

“I’m fine, son,” he says.

It’s all Stiles can do to stop the frustration clawing at him. So much has happened. There’s so much he doesn’t know about, and he can’t believe he ever left his father alone for a big city. He wants to throw up again, feeling sick and so out of control of his own life.

Scott reaches for his arm and squeezes. “It’s okay, buddy, it’s okay. We’ll get through it. And, there’s something else you should know, so, um, when Derek comes back ask him how you met each other, okay? Have you done that yet?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No. Do I have to?”

They both nod and Stiles sighs, wondering if things are going to get any easier.

\--

It takes until visiting hours are almost over for Stiles to ask. Derek has brought him food, things from their home, things that he might like. It includes a favorite blanket, his DC pyjamas he bought in college, his ratty, red jumper he’s surprised still exists, and they’re all things that he would remember and that would give him some comfort. It scares Stiles more than it should that someone who isn’t Scott or his father knows these things.

 “So,” Stiles says, everything awkward, Derek still at the edge of the room and unwilling to leave, even though all he did was sit there and watch Scott and Stiles talk, not wanting to ‘overwhelm’ him. “How did we meet?”

Derek looks at him, takes a deep breath. “It – it was on the set of _Crown for a Criminal_. I was the lead actor.”

Stiles falters. “Wh-what?”

“Your books. People like them. I love them. You got published.”

Stiles swears, and suddenly the sheets are too tight around his legs. He needs air, he needs it now and he can’t deal with another bomb dropping like this. It’s not fair. It’s not fair.

“Books?” he finally says, voice hard to hear.

“You’ve released two of them.”

Stiles feels his heart do something weird in his chest. His books. “My fantasy series?” He demands, getting angry. Derek nods. “I hadn’t finished writing them! I’ve only half finished the first draft!”

He’s yelling, he knows he’s yelling but he can’t stop. Stiles swears and Derek looks heartbroken and all Stiles can think of is that his fantasy series has been in his head since he was fifteen. It can’t be written. Two whole books can’t be written. There’s still so many things he hadn’t figured out yet, and then Derek’s coming closer, thumb running over Stiles’ wrist. The sweetness of it, the shock of it, seems to calm Stiles down.

“It’s written,” Derek says softly. “And it’s very popular.”

“No, no, no – it can’t be. It’s not done. I still have so much to do,” he says, and then he curls over, away from Derek, bringing his knees up to his chest. Derek’s hand drops away. Neither of them moves.

It seems like hours later when he finally lets himself turn back to Derek. He stares at him, admiring the soft curve of his cheeks and the pinkness of his lips. His eyes are stunning and his hair is dark, a perfect fit for the character Stiles created.

He was sort of an inspiration – looks wise at least, for the main character. Stiles had admired Derek Hale from afar, when he was on that stupid TV show and then when he started to make increasingly better and better movies, and then finally winning that award.

Stiles wonders if Derek knows that, if Stiles ever admitted that he was the starting point to his whole fantasy series.

Judging by the soft, cheeky smile that emerges on Derek’s face, almost too fond, it tells Stiles that he knows. Of course he knows. It’s too much to comprehend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to bleep0bleep :)

Stiles sits alone in his hospital room, a small suitcase by his feet, waiting for Derek to return with his discharge papers. Stiles is relieved to go, the days slow, his therapy heading nowhere, but he has to face the fact that he has to go home to Derek.

It makes sense. All his belongings are there, and there’s nowhere else in New York for him to stay. Scott and his father seem to think it’s a good idea, they trust Derek implicitly, and the only good thing about the arrangement is that Stiles’ father is staying with them for two weeks.

Stiles wishes he didn’t have to say goodbye to Scott so soon, but his best friend has already returned to Beacon Hills, back to his wife.

Stiles has no idea what it’s going to be like, sharing a space with Derek Hale. He already sees him every day during visiting hours; his presence relentless, like all he needs is to see Stiles alive and alert.

It’s sweet, but Stiles doesn’t know him. He’s a stranger – beautiful, but a heavy reminder of all that Stiles has lost.

“Mr. Stilinski?”

“Yes?” he says, eyes drifting to the door. One of the nurses is there, a shy smile on her face. She holds out a piece of paper – a printed picture of Stiles – and his eyes go wide.

“Since you’re leaving, I was wondering if I could get your autograph?” she says, almost breathlessly. Stiles stares at her. “I love your books.”

She holds out a pen. Over the past few weeks this nurse has been friendly, attentive, but she’s kept her distance. Stiles doesn’t know what to do, he’s never been asked for an autograph in his life, and the picture of him is upside down and looks distorted. His hair is in a gelled back mess, and he’s even posing, a smirk on his face. Stiles wants nothing more than to rip the photo to shreds.

Her face looks sincere and Stiles opens his mouth to speak, to say yes or to say no, he’s not sure, but he’s saved from answering when Derek appears at the door, Stiles’ discharge papers under his arm.

“What are you doing?” he accuses.

Stiles and the nurse both jump. She holds up the pen and the photo wordlessly, staring at Derek.

He presses his lips together, a dark look on his face, but then he sighs, taking the pen from her and finding a scrap piece of paper nearby. Derek scribbles down his name, writing out an autograph Stiles would’ve wished for when he was younger, and the nurse takes it with bright red cheeks, muttering a thank you before she exits the room.

“I told them all not to bother you,” Derek says.

“I can handle it,” Stiles tells him, getting to his feet. He wonders if Derek can hear his lie, but all he does is drag his gaze over Stiles’ face before he leads the way.

A car waits at the back entrance, engine running, and Stiles tries not to roll his eyes when Derek holds the door open for him, action careful.

“This is Frank,” Derek says, after putting Stiles’ suitcase in the trunk of the car. “He’s part of our security team. Call him if you want to go anywhere, and he’ll take you, make sure you’re okay.”

Derek’s voice turns soft, fingers reaching over the space between them. It’s a request to take his advice, to stay safe, but all Stiles does is shrug. Frank gives him a cheerful wave through the rear mirror and starts to introduce himself, breaking the tension in the backseat of the car.

He’s half dreading the arrival to the apartment. Derek gives up on trying to catch his eye, and Stiles stares out the window at a city he doesn’t know.

Stiles gapes when he sees the apartment.

“Fuck, you must be loaded.”

Derek looks over at him, lowering Stiles’ suitcase to the ground. “It’s ours. We’re loaded, yes. You helped.”

He steps forward, letting his eyes trail over the apartment. There’s a lot of empty space and each room is larger than the whole of the flat Stiles used to live in. He barely recognizes anything, each object and piece of furniture foreign to him even though he knows he must have lived here for a long time.

There’s his lacrosse stick from high school sitting in the corner. He sees a few of his ratty Harry Potter books on the coffee table. Derek must have put them there.

“Um,” says Derek, “Your father will be here soon, he was staying at a hotel because it was closer to the hospital. He’s just getting his things. He’ll stay in the spare room, so I’ll um, sleep on the couch.”

“Dude,” Stiles says, “It’s your apartment.”

“Ours,” Derek corrects. “You were the one to choose this place.”

“Well, I don’t fucking remember that, do I?” Stiles snaps.

Derek looks like he’s been hit by something. He stands straighter. “You’re taking the bed. You’re still recovering.”

“Fine,” Stiles mutters, deflating. It’s difficult not to be harsh and he knows Derek didn’t ask for any of this, but Stiles can’t just act like everything’s okay.

He follows Derek’s directions to the bedroom. It’s large, comfortable. A big bed takes up the centre of the room and Stiles flops down on it, staring at the ceiling. His neck heats up as it occurs to him that he’s had sex with Derek in this bed. They’ve probably fucked each other countless times, and for his own sake he hopes it was good.

He wishes he could remember it. He wishes he could shake off the discomfort of not knowing how Derek’s touched his body, and it doesn’t matter that Stiles used to jerk off to thoughts of him in high school.

Stiles hears Derek walking around the apartment, steps slow and dragging. The sounds give him every reminder that he’s not alone, he’s living with a stranger, and Stiles sneaks off to the adjoining bathroom and turns on the shower, ready to cry.

He can’t do this. He can’t adjust to a whole other life with no warning. Stiles stares at himself in the mirror, and he looks older, better. He’s grown into himself, if a little skinny from the hospital, but at least he can see why Derek might have been interested in him. Otherwise, he has no clue. And he’s not going to ask.

The tears don’t come even though Stiles wants them to, even though he feels sorry for himself.

Stiles showers and stays in the bedroom, going through their shared things. Derek’s clothes are on one side of the room, Stiles’ on the other. He finds a drawer that quickly answers some of his questions about their sex life, but Stiles leaves it alone, not wanting to go there, his heart thudding fast.

It’s in the very back of a cupboard, that Stiles catches a glimpse of gold.

“Oh my fucking God,” Stiles mutters, pulling the trophy out. It’s a little dusty but there’s no mistaking it. It’s Derek’s Oscar. He’s touching an Oscar right now, he’s married to a celebrity, and they’re both a little famous.

It’s surreal. It’s too much. Stiles stuffs the trophy back into the cupboard, hiding it again. Out of sight, out of mind.

He’s never going to get used to this.

\--

It’s a relief when his father returns. Derek keeps his distance, but he’s always trying to help Stiles, pointing out where the cutlery is, where they keep the plates. His calm expression flickers every so often, whenever Stiles’ words are curt or when he doesn’t even bother to answer.

His father frowns at him but says nothing, instead looking over at Derek and making sure his son in law is okay.

Stiles has a mental list of questions to ask, things he can’t help but be curious about. How long has he been married? How long were they dating? Are his books really that popular? He goes to his father for answers, not really wanting to hear anything about his life from Derek’s lips.

“You know,” he says. “Derek is your husband. You should really be asking him these questions.”

Stiles grits his teeth together.

“I thought this was your dream,” his father teases. “To marry Derek Hale?”

“It would help if I knew him, or, if you know, I actually fell in love with him first,” Stiles points out.

“Of course,” his father replies, expression soft. “But he’s a good man, okay?”

It takes everything not to sigh, to wonder if the reason his father is here isn’t to keep Stiles sane, but rather Derek. At least Derek has a job to go to, a new movie that he seems to be regretting taking on since it means he can’t stay home with Stiles at all hours of the day.

Stiles is glad about that, and Derek knows it.

\--

“Um, Stiles?” Derek knocks on the bedroom door, waiting a few seconds before stepping inside. Stiles scrambles off the bed, falling to the floor and reaching for a dirty shirt. He pulls it over his head, covering his pale, naked chest, even though he knows Derek has seen him like this before.

Derek clears his throat.

“What do you want?”

“I’ve been in contact with your manager,” he says quietly. “She would like to meet up with you, and she’s arriving here soon.”

Derek looks around the room, lips tilted down when he sees what a mess it is. Clothes are strewn all over the floor and dirty dishes are piling up on the bedside tables. Derek takes a step back, scratching the side of his face.

“Is it necessary?” Stiles asks.

Derek looks at him intently. “Yeah. She’s been out of the country, so that’s why she didn’t visit you at the hospital.” He pauses. “Maybe you should have a shower before she comes.”

Stiles glares and Derek quickly shuffles out of the room, closing the door gently behind him. Stiles throws himself onto the bed and groans, lifting up an arm and sniffing, before he reluctantly goes and take Derek’s advice.

When he comes out of the bathroom, all his clothes have been picked up, the dirty plates have been cleared and the bed stripped. Stiles sighs, running a hand through his now clean hair, feeling himself growing more pathetic by the day.

He quietly steps out into the living area and takes in the sight of his father and Derek sitting side by side on the couch. Today is one of those days where Derek doesn’t have to leave for work. Instead he stays, wearing sweat pants and a loose shirt, forehead creased as he peers at his book. He’s a lot softer on the edges than Stiles expected, curled up by the cushions and mismatched socks on his feet.

“There you are,” says his father, and Stiles jumps.

“Hi,” he mutters, knowing he’s been caught staring.

“Nice to see you’ve emerged to the land of the living,” he says, and Stiles frowns at them, noticing the barest hint of a smile that shows up on Derek’s face.

Derek coughs. “I’ll be in the office if you need anything,” he says awkwardly, getting to his feet. He treats Stiles with an earnest look, trying to get Stiles to understand that he’s there, wanting to help. It’s the same thing he’s been saying all week, and that Stiles has so far ignored.

Derek looks disappointed, and quietly he disappears.

His father lets out a long sigh. “You never did anything the easy way, did you?”

Stiles collapses onto the armchair, butt sinking down. “And you think there’s an easy way?”

“You could talk to him.”

“About what?”

“Your life together.”

Stiles sits up and lowers his voice to a hiss. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know what I’ve done, or what I’ve felt, especially since I don’t remember it, okay? It’s weird.”

“Then talk to him about what he’s working on right now,” his father suggests, voice tired. He turns back to his newspaper, ignoring the sound of the doorbell when it rings. Stiles waits, expecting him to answer it, but his father just sits there.

Stiles sighs and goes to open the door. A wave of red hair meets him, and Lydia Martin’s lips settle into a small smile.

“Thank the fucking Lord. It’s actually someone I know,” Stiles says, a slow grin forming on his face. She rolls her eyes, almost fond, and steps through to the apartment. Stiles trails after her. “You’re my manager?”

Lydia nods. “Yes.”

“You haven’t changed one bit.”

She gives him a dirty look. “If you still mean that I look beautiful and intelligent then thank you. Perhaps it’s going to take you some time to figure out what is actually different about me.”

Stiles shrugs and he feels lighter, like when Scott was here. His father says hello to her and Stiles feels like he’s not completely out of his depth. He knows Lydia. They’ve known each other since high school.

“So,” she says, the both of them taking a seat. They’ve been left alone. “What’s it like living with Derek Hale?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“You know why,” Lydia says, raising a perfectly done eyebrow. She tilts her head towards the office and Stiles nods, letting her know that Derek’s in the apartment. “And how has he been? Absolutely terrible?”

“No,” Stiles admits, lowering his voice. “He’s fine. I just – I don’t know him. And he walks on freaking eggshells around me and I can’t stand it.”

Lydia gives him a flat look, but then her expression turns soft, and her words are less blunt than Stiles expected them to be. “It’s as hard for him as it is for you – if not more. Don’t just sit there and whine, Stiles, it won’t do yourself any good.”

They stare at each other. He just wants one person to understand that he would love for everything to be okay. Stiles doesn’t want the mess that’s in front of him, but he can’t make himself feel the things he used to. He can’t pretend it’s easy to hear Derek even hint at what their life was like together because it wouldn’t be fair to anyone.

“Let’s talk business,” Lydia says, taking pity on him. “I need to know what’s going through your head about your novels.”

Stiles tugs at the bottom of his shirt. He’s tried his best not to think about them, refusing to accept the idea that people love what he’s written, that it’s good enough for the whole world to consume. It was still a piece of shit when he last had his hands on it.

“Okay,” Lydia says carefully. “I see.”

He wrinkles his nose.

“I think it’s a good idea that the public doesn’t know about your condition or they might react very negatively.”

“Why do they even care?”

“Well, they’ll have their doubts that you’ll finish the series.”

“I guess,” he mutters.

“So even though you have no recollection of getting married, you will still need to wear your wedding ring, okay?” Lydia says, but she glances down at Stiles’ finger and smirks. He quickly sits on his hands. “I see we already have that one sorted.”

Stiles glowers. “I didn’t want to hurt his feelings.” It also feels weird, to take it off, to see the pale mark the ring leaves from the metal pressing into his skin.

Lydia hides her knowing look and she doesn’t press further. Her voice starts gentle when she talks about the production for the second movie, and Stiles learns that filming was almost ready to start when he got into his accident.

It’s been put on hold. Money was probably lost, but Stiles is glad that they didn’t go through with it.

“Did I like the first movie?” Stiles asks.

Lydia smiles. “Why don’t you go and watch it and decide for yourself?”

Stiles keeps his face blank. The idea of watching something he has no memory in creating makes him nervous, makes him think about how there are so many other people out there who must know his books better than he does. It doesn’t matter that he’s been brainstorming everything since he was in high school – plot points were bound to be discarded, changed, and he’s worried the novel he’s ended up with will look like a stranger has written it.

The movie will be even worse, he’s sure. And he’d have to watch Derek in it.

“Now,” says Lydia, giving him a stern look. “You’re still going to go to therapy. You’re going to need it to help accept everything that’s happened to you, and you’ll probably work on memory exercises, just in case that it helps. You now have enough money to hire the experts, you know.”

He listens to her carefully, finally concentrating and nodding when she’d like him to. Once Lydia’s finished talking, Stiles smiles at her.

“Is that it?” asks Stiles. Lydia turns and looks at him, eyes narrowing as she tries to decipher his meaning. “Didn’t you miss me?”

Lydia can’t hide her weak smile, and behind her makeup and smart clothes, Stiles sees something waver. “You’re an idiot,” she says. “Of course I missed you.”

“Never thought I’d hear you admit that, Lyds.”

She sniffs. “Well, I’d never thought you’d end up in a car accident never to wake up again. Even if you have lost the maturity the last six years have given you, I’m still very glad to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles stands and holds out his arms. He gets the hug he knows she wants but won’t ask for.

Lydia leaves just as Derek steps into the living room, sweats low on his hips and a script in his hand. He takes one look at Lydia, smiles brightly, and then moves over to kiss her cheek. Stiles watches, thrown by how stunning Derek is, and wondering when all his friends became Derek’s friends.

Derek turns and looks at Stiles, biting his lip. Suddenly he stills, glancing between the two of them. The paper he’s holding crinkles as his grip tightens around it, but Lydia’s already on her way out before Stiles can figure out what’s wrong.

Derek seems to recover.

“I’ll see you both in a couple of days,” Lydia calls over her shoulder. Stiles gives her a half hearted wave and then he and Derek are standing there, watching her go.

“Lydia’s cool,” Stiles says.

“Yes,” Derek says. “I know.”

Stiles is about to walk away when Derek reaches out, touching his wrist. His fingertips are warm but Stiles jerks back, not expecting the contact. Derek steps away, cheeks flushed.

“I was wondering if I could show you something,” he says quietly, looking anywhere but at Stiles.

He fights back a sigh and nods, startled when Derek throws him a shy smile. Derek keeps his arms by his sides as he leads Stiles to the office, the smallest room in their apartment. On the far wall is a bookshelf, and Derek points to the bottom right hand corner.

“Those are your books,” Derek tells him. “If you would like to look at them.”

He wasn’t expecting this. Stiles’ skin starts to run hot and he stares the dozen or so copies sitting on the shelf. His name is in big, fat letters along the spine, a bright yellow over black and he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

Derek blinks at him, taking in his reaction and thank God he decides to move away. It’s minutes before Stiles falls to his knees in front of the many books, and tentatively Stiles reaches for the most battered copy on the shelf.

The pages fall open to the title, _Crown for a Criminal_ , and Stiles runs his fingertips over the letters. He turns the page, slowly, and then there’s an inscription dented into the page with blue ink. Stiles’ breath hitches and he has to read it over and over again before it makes any sense.

_To Derek, I can’t believe you’re an even bigger fan of me than I was of you. Love Stiles._

It’s his handwriting. A messy scrawl but definitely his, his love signed onto the page. This is the copy that Derek’s probably picked up and read the most, looking worn and dog eared and cherished. Stiles throws it aside.

Why can’t he remember that feeling? How come that love he felt just disappeared as soon as he got hit by a car? It’s not fair having to see the sadness that moves over Derek’s face when he forgets to hide it, it’s not fair to have lost this kind of happiness that he only now gets to see glimpses of.

He has money. He has a gorgeous husband. He doesn’t have the satisfaction of working hard for it, of going through the hard shit before he got to the good. Stiles still feels like he’s a broke, jobless college student, with a useless degree almost under his belt.

And now he’s thrust into all this – and he just wishes he could remember it all.

The book looks sad on the floor, and Stiles hastily picks it up. Guilt starts inside him so he smoothes the cover over, placing it back on the shelf and not bothering to look at the other copies. Maybe one day he’ll read it, but not – not now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for commenting and for the subscriptions :) :) I really appreciate it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to [bleep0bleep](http://bleep0bleep.tumblr.com) :)

Stiles spends the days indoors, perusing the apartment’s DVD collection and watching movies he likes the sound of. At first he watches things he’s already seen, soaking in the familiarity of it, before he tries something he’s undoubtedly seen before but has no recollection of.

Frame by frame he watches the characters and the world unfold, wondering why his brain is so broken that he can’t remember how each story ends. Stiles watches the final _Harry Potter_ movies, gutted that he missed the ending’s hype, he discovers _The Hunger Games_ and all the Marvel films he hasn’t seen and it’s overwhelming.

There’s too much. He won’t ever have time to catch up on this inconsequential part of his life and Stiles hates how he’s been reduced to swearing under his breath, frustration hitting him everywhere he goes.

He opens the laptop Derek said was his, Stiles’ password on a post it note, neatly printed in Derek’s careful hand. Stiles bitterly wonders how gone he must have been on Derek for him to know that detail. He’s sure his laptop holds some secrets, probably has his fucking writing on it, and Derek has clear access to it.

He’s only on the internet to look up box office hits but the search bar is already there, tempting, and Stiles’ fingers start to type before he can help himself. His breaths go shaky for a moment so he starts off easy, searching _Derek Hale_. Instantly there are news articles, talking about Stiles’ recovery, talking about the new movie he’s recently taken on and talking about whether they will finally start filming the second book in Stiles’ fantasy series.

A picture accompanies the article, Derek’s arm around Stiles’ waist as they pose for pictures on a red carpet. Derek’s eyes are bright and crinkled as they look down at the floor, a small smile resting on his lips. He looks at ease despite the presence of the photographers, when Stiles only remembers bored glares from Derek’s usual red carpet look.

Stiles must have said something seconds before, because he’s staring at Derek, looking for his reaction. Only Stiles’ profile is showing, his lips in a wide grin as he looks completely smitten in his expensive suit and tie.

_We wish Stiles a speedy recovery, and hope that soon he gets writing that third book all us fans are desperate for!_

Stiles glares at the caption. They don’t fucking get it, these strangers. His eyes linger on the photo and it must have been taken before they were married, perhaps when they were still new. Their rings are gone from the photograph and Stiles twists the band on his own finger, faced with feelings and events he can’t remember. He feels a little sick.

He moves on and googles himself instead. There is no mention of his memory loss and Stiles sighs in relief, slightly curious when he clicks a link to a spoiler free review of one of his books.

The words are flooded with praise. There’s talk about characters he’s shared with _no one_ and sure, there are some things the reviewers don’t like but otherwise they can’t say a thing wrong about _Crown for a Criminal_. It doesn’t make sense. Stiles can’t understand the hype and it feels like cheating, like he’s taking credit from someone who doesn’t exist.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, shoving the laptop away.

“Stiles, what’s wrong?” his father says, walking into the room. Stiles’ hand are clenched by his sides, his shoulders rigid and he watches the careful way his father sits on the couch.

“Why do people like it?” he hisses, red faced. “My books, I don’t get it.”

His father blinks.

“Why does Derek like it?” Stiles says, scrambling forward. “And don’t tell me to just ask him, because it’s not as easy as that.”

“It is actually, that easy,” he says, matter of fact. Stiles scowls. “You talk to him, you let him open up and _tell you_ about something you both have in common. You wrote the books, and he read them. Or you could try and find interview of him talking about it, but you’re more likely to run into things you don’t want to find.”

Stiles stares at him, curious. “What things?”

“Lies,” his father says. “Gossip.”

“Oh.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says, reaching out and gripping Stiles’ shoulder, forcing their gazes to meet. “You’re going to get to know Derek again, okay? He’s going to get to know you. Don’t let what you find out be from the internet, Stiles, when the person you want answers about is right in front of you.”

Stiles stares at his father, his heart drooping. He doesn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially not his father, and despite how things look he doesn’t want to hurt Derek. He just doesn’t know how to deal with having to live with him, having to talk to someone who already knows pretty much everything about him.

“Think about it,” his father says, leaning back. Stiles sinks back into the couch, covering his face with a pillow. He wants to be back in his shitty flat, brain overworked, exams approaching, and bank account empty. Then things would make sense.

\--

He’s not looking forward to how empty the apartment will be once his father is gone. There will be nothing to distract Stiles from the awkward pauses he shares with Derek, silence resting in the air when Derek lets slip something Stiles doesn’t exactly want to hear about their life together.

“Dad, are you ready?” Stiles asks, stepping into the spare bedroom.

“Yeah, yeah, almost there,” he grumbles, reaching for his suitcase. A wince suddenly fills the air and his father drops his bags, clutching at his chest for a second and stumbling back. Stiles stares at him, eyes flickering to his shoulder, where his father said he got shot.

“Are you okay?” Stiles’ voice is small.

His father waves his hand. “Don’t worry about, Stiles, it’s nothing.”

Stiles is about to protest, panic at the edge of his words, but Derek appears, quickly walking into the room and picking up the case.

“Here, I’ll take it,” he says, glancing at Stiles. His father is still massaging his chest, a grimace on his face before he catches Stiles’ shocked look and immediately stops.

“I’m fine,” he says again.

There’s not any more time for Stiles to object, the car already outside to take his father to the airport. He didn’t want any of them to deal with the paparazzi if they accompanied him, and Stiles sort of understands, objectively, but he wishes he could draw out this goodbye.

Derek says something quiet to his father-in-law and Stiles watches their brief embrace. Stiles is hugged, too, but he doesn’t know how serious his father’s wound is, how careful he should be when all he wants is to grip tight.

“Are you alright?” Derek asks Stiles, voice soft. The apartment door has clicked shut and Stiles is still staring at it. It’s late in the evening, the hallway a little dark. Stiles blinks.

“No,” he says, turning. His words are blunt.

Derek holds in his breath, almost stuttering before he speaks. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”

Stiles gives him a dirty look, feeling like shit because the more he finds out, the more he realizes he doesn’t know, and Stiles wasn’t there for his father when things got tough. “Can you stop asking me that?” Stiles says, irritated. “Because all I’m going to say is no.”

Derek’s lip quivers, too many expressions flickering over his face. Finally, he steps forward, getting into Stiles’ space, so that there’s only a foot between them.

“No,” Derek says, words slow. “No. I’m not going to stop saying that. I’m not going to stop wondering, or asking if you’re okay.”

“Fine!” Stiles yells. “But it’s not my fault when you don’t get to hear what you want!”

Derek, all firm shoulders and curved muscles, just stands there, chest rising and falling. He’s not far away, his features striking and pretty, and then he closes down, throwing all emotion from his face. It’s blank and unsettling, and Stiles doesn’t know him well enough to pick below the wall Derek suddenly puts up. This – this is similar to the Derek he remembers in interviews and on the TV.

Stiles has to look away, running a hand through his hair. “I’m just going to go to bed,” he says, speaking through his teeth. Derek doesn’t move, making Stiles shuffle around him before he walks to the bedroom and slams the door.

\--

“Stiles?”

He turns to find Derek hovering by the door, dressed well and ready to go to the movie set. Stiles leans back against the kitchen cupboards, spooning cereal into his mouth as he waits for Derek to speak.

“I’ve been trying to give you space,” he says, “But since your father isn’t here anymore, I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner here, tonight? Just you and me. I’ll cook.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow, taking his time swallowing his food. This would sound awfully like a date if they weren’t already married. He clears his throat. “I suppose you’re going to cook what I don’t know is my favorite meal or something,” he mutters.

Derek’s smile looks forced. “I’ll cook something new.”

“It might go wrong.”

“I’ll manage,” Derek says. Stiles shrugs, moving forward and rinsing his bowl. Derek waits silently for him to answer, occasionally glancing at the time on his phone. Stiles knows he’s being petty and stupid, making Derek wait as he comes up with his answer, but right now these kind of moments seem like the only thing he has control over in his life.

“Fine,” Stiles says. “I have nothing better to do.”

Derek breathes out, relieved, the sound too loud in the air. He takes a step towards Stiles, leaning as if to kiss him goodbye, but catching himself a second later. Derek wears a frown as he leaves, and Stiles wonders how many other habits he’s had to break since Stiles woke up in the hospital.

Stiles needs to get out of there.

He’s been sitting around for the past two weeks, cooped up in the apartment, vaguely hoping that something was going to happen. Stiles has been to his appointments at the hospital and they’ve told him the longer it takes to get his memories back, the less likely it’s going to happen. He thought maybe if he put off everything in his life, it would, by itself, turn back to normal. But the wait is getting longer and longer – and tonight he has to eat dinner with Derek, so right now he needs some air.

He remembers Derek’s advice, to call Frank if he wants to go anywhere, but Stiles doesn’t care about going through all that trouble.

The air is warm when he steps outside, the sound of cars moving past him loud in the air. Stiles stumbles down the front steps, catching himself on the handrail. He looks around, hands sweaty, and he doesn’t know what it is but something feels wrong.

Stiles turns left and starts to walk. He keeps glancing over his shoulder – just in case – a weird feeling crawling over his skin that he can’t explain. He picks up his pace and then, at the edge of his vision, he sees a man with a camera.

Oh fuck.

They seem to be hiding, or just waiting around, because this is Stiles’ first proper appearance outside the doors of his home. It’s bearable, just, and Stiles can ignore it if he tries because it’s too crazy to believe that this attention is for him.

And then they’re surrounding him, the camera flashes making him dizzy.

His name is being yelled and all Stiles can think of is that this is _Derek’s_ fault. Derek is the celebrity. Derek is the one who has to deal with this shit, and now Stiles has been thrown into it all. Stiles doesn’t answer when they rattle him with question after question, and his throat feels like it’s seizing up.

God, his hair isn’t washed, he looks like shit, and he’s wearing baggy jeans and a ratty sweater This is going on the Internet, people will see this, and Stiles doesn’t know what the fuck he’s supposed to be doing, so he hurries on faster, ducking his head.

The first shop he sees is an independent bookstore.

For a second he thinks he’s cornered himself, giving himself nowhere to run. The photographers are careful not to touch him and Stiles almost leaps for the door of the bookstore, slamming it behind him as soon as he gets inside.

The sound of the paparazzi is muffled behind the glass of the door but the cameras are still going off. Stiles’ heart thunders in his chest, too close to being in a full blown panic, but then a young man with curly hair and sharp cheekbones steps from behind a couch, scowling.

“What’s going on – Stiles!” he says, smiling slightly.

Stiles stares at him, unsure, eyes wide and he stutters. “I – they’re, God, they’re everywhere.”

The man nods at him, gaze going steely as he eyes the photographers behind the glass windows. He steps forward, grabbing Stiles’ wrist and pulling him through to the back of the store. Stiles has no choice but to follow him, but the guy seems to know him and perhaps he’s going to help. Stiles fucking hopes so.

“Don’t worry, they’re not going to come in after last time,” he mutters, and then they’re surrounded by boxes, in a room with no windows, no paparazzi, and Stiles collapses to the floor, trying to breathe.

“Fuck,” he says, “Fuck.”

The guy gives him a wry smile. “First time you’ve seen them since the hospital?” he guesses.

Stiles nods and his eyes trail up to the guy’s name tag. Isaac.

“It’s good to see you man,” he says, rubbing his face. “I haven’t seen Derek much either, you know. He’s been a bit distant but hopefully I’ll see more of you now that you’re even awake. God.”

Isaac shakes his head and says something about calling security. Stiles is too shocked to speak, feeling dreadfully alone when Isaac leaves him in the dull light of the storeroom. Stiles’ hands are trembling as he reaches for his phone, and he sees Derek’s contact first but he rings Scott. He knows Scott.

“Hey, Stiles, what’s up man?” his friend says, sounding a little distracted.

“Scott – why didn’t you tell me about the photographers, why didn’t anyone tell me about them?” Stiles hisses.

“Shit, Stiles, are you okay?” There’s rustling on the other end of the line, but then Scott’s voice is insistent in his ear.

Stiles nods, but there’s sweat down his back and he’s still seeing the camera flash behind his eyes. This is a nightmare; it’s a fucking nightmare he didn’t ever ask for.

“Stiles?”

He coughs. “I’m okay, I think. They’re still outside, I’m in a bookstore.”

“With Isaac?” Scott asks.

“Yeah.”

“He’s cool; you can trust him, okay? You’re friends.”

“Okay,” he says, and Stiles shuffles along the floor until he’s leaning against a pile of boxes. The air is still around him but all he can imagine is the people outside, wanting to photograph him, wanting to sell his picture and make a tonne of cash from it. It’s crazy, absolutely crazy. Stiles takes in a deep breath. “Okay.”

Scott’s voice stays soothing. “Where’s Derek?”

“Work,” Stiles mutters.

“He’s not with you?” Scott says, voice getting hard and a little angry. “Why are you out by yourself?”

Stiles swallows. “He – he told me that I needed someone else, he told me but I just went on my own anyway. He didn’t warn me – I wasn’t expecting this – them. I wasn’t expecting them, just waiting outside my fucking door.”

Scott tells him to breathe, and Stiles drops his head between his knees. “Hey, Stiles, I’m at work and there’s a bit of something going on, so I’m going to give you to Kira, okay? She’s my wife.”

“Right,” Stiles mutters. He hears the phone being passed between people, and then there’s a cheery voice in his ear, though a little hesitant.

“Stiles!”

“Um,” he says. “Hi?”

“I can’t wait to meet you,” she says. “I mean, obviously I’ve met you but I can’t wait for you to meet me! We’ve always gotten on pretty well, or, at least I think so. I don’t think you had any objections when Scott and I got married, after all.”

“Uh, well, why would I?”

She hums through the phone, sounding thoughtful. “Well, you two are quite protective of each other, especially since your books have done so well! Congratulations on that, Stiles. Has anyone told you that yet?”

“No,” he admits, not sure he wants to hear it, but Kira’s voice is warm and lovely, and maybe he feels a little bit better when she tells him he’s done well.

“Good job – oh, um, Scott’s telling me I shouldn’t really talk to you about your books, but you’ve done so well with them and you’ve told me all about when you first came up with them in your high school chemistry class, so.”

Stiles perks up. “With Mr. Harris? I think I made a character based on his sorry ass. Is he still in there?”

Kira laughs. “Yeah, he is. I think you killed him off pretty early, though.”

“Good riddance,” Stiles mutters.

The phone is passed to Scott again, and even though Stiles is alone he feels calmer. The distance between the four walls of the storeroom is uncomfortably small, and Stiles isn’t ready to face the cameras again, but at least he’s safe in here for the time being.

“Hey, Stiles, I’ve texted Derek. He’s going to come and get you.”

“What?”

“Your husband,” Scott says. “I’ve texted him off Kira’s phone.”

Stiles groans. “Really?”

He hears Scott’s sigh through the speakers, but now all Stiles can think of is how humiliating all this is. He bets Derek knows how to handle the paparazzi, how to slip by them and make a photograph not be worth anything. It’s all the things Stiles doesn’t know.

Isaac comes back eventually, letting him know that they can’t get all the photographers to leave because the sidewalk isn’t private property, and Stiles feels his stomach fall. Scott has to hang up the phone because he’s at work, actually doing something with his life, and Kira can’t stay on the line either. They both sound sorry when they hang up the phone, Scott telling Stiles to text him when he gets home.

“Is Derek coming?”

“Yeah,” Stiles tells Isaac, barely looking at him.

Isaac gives him a funny look. “Are you alright? You seem a bit thrown.”

Stiles laughs shakily, and he knows Scott said he can trust Isaac but he doesn’t want to tell him about the amnesia, too scared of being taken advantage of just because he doesn’t know shit anymore. “Hit my head pretty hard,” he says.

Isaac nods, but then he grins. “It’s a shame really; I didn’t think you could afford to lose any more brain cells.”

Stiles scowls, but Isaac’s already gone, throwing a nervous smile towards Stiles as he goes back to the main bookstore.

Stiles waits. He wonders how long Derek is going to be, or if he thinks that Stiles is now some kind of burden. He focuses on his breathing, in and out, and he ends up jumping when someone knocks on the door, and then Derek is stepping through.

“Stiles,” he says, looking distressed. He crouches down in front of Stiles, trying to catch his eye, worry filling his voice. “I – are you hurt?”

Stiles stills when Derek puts a hand on his shoulder, unthinking, probably hoping the contact would help Stiles a little. He shakes him off. “I’m fine,” he says, lowering his voice to a hiss. “Why didn’t you warn me about them?”

Derek blinks, surprised, his hand dropping to the ground. “I – I did?” His lips turn downwards. “I told you, Stiles, but you haven’t been listening to me.”

“You told me?” Stiles says, voice small. Derek nods, smile sad.

“You want to leave now?”

“No,” Stiles almost yells, grabbing Derek’s arm to keep him from standing. “Can we wait until they leave?”

Derek shakes his head, twisting around until they’re sitting side by side. Stiles can feel the heat of his husband’s body, and instead of being as uncomfortable as it is unfamiliar, it’s a sort of grounding presence, warm.

“They’re going to stay there all day if they have to,” Derek says softly. “They do the craziest things for photographs sometimes, and this is nothing.”

“Shit,” Stiles says, staring ahead.

“You don’t really ever get used to it,” Derek says bitterly. “Frank is circling the block, so he’ll be outside when you’re ready. I – um, I wish you had rung me first,” he admits.

Stiles levels him with a glare. There’s not much space between them and it makes Stiles’ anger a little more intense than it needs to be. “Why?” he spits. “Why? Why do you even care? I’m not –” He stops, turns away. “I’m not the Stiles you know. I’m twenty one. I still go out and get drunk all the time; I play video games in my underwear on a regular basis!”

Derek comes in close, eyebrows folded together and expression hard. “Look,” he says, voice harsh. “I didn’t ever think you would wake up. This is more than I could ask for, and I care about you a lot more than you think, even if you’re a hell of a lot more stubborn than I’m used to.”

Stiles’ nostrils flare, unable to tear his gaze away. Derek reaches out and gently holds his wrist, using touch to try and get him to understand that he’s there, that he’s not going to disappear just because Stiles wants him to. It’s then, that Isaac steps inside, following his entrance with a swear.

“Not again, guys, please,” he says, holding up his hands. Derek leans away, rubbing his face, letting go of Stiles’ arm.

“What?” Stiles asks.

“I don’t need you having sex in my storeroom again just because there are paparazzi outside, okay? They’re still going to be there no matter how long you wait in here, so you’re better off just leaving now,” Isaac tells them, a pleading look on his face. “You can do _whatever_ at home.” Stiles feels his cheeks burn up, and Derek is wriggling away, suddenly awkward.

“We’ll be out in a minute,” Derek says weakly.

Isaac narrows his eyes. “You better be.”

The storeroom door closes and Stiles wonders how intimate they must have looked just then. He stops himself from imagining what happened in here last time, stops himself from wondering what Derek’s hands over him might feel like.

Derek clears his throat, getting to his feet and offering Stiles his hand. Face still red, Stiles gets up on his own, his legs a little numb.

“I can tell Isaac about your condition if you like,” he says, scratching his stubble. “We come here a lot and we can trust him. Though – I haven’t seen him since your accident.” Derek ducks his head, looking guilty.

“Don’t tell him just yet,” Stiles says. “Okay?”

“Whatever you want.”

They stare at each other for another second, and Stiles is still flooded with thoughts of them together in the storeroom, kissing, touching each other, and he can’t handle it, shuddering as he tries to throw the images from his mind. On Derek’s face is a tiny smirk.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Derek puts his arm around Stiles’ waist, keeping him near. He would shake it off but now the cameras seem worse than before, the yells from the paparazzi much louder, and Stiles’ heart feels like it’s going mad. They’re not even outside yet, waiting for their car to pull over.

They’re about to leave when Isaac grabs his arm. “I got some info about that thing you were after,” he whispers, discretely tilting his head towards Derek. “Come back if you still want it.”

“Uh, okay?” he manages, confused, but then Derek’s ushering him out and the reality of being a celebrity cements itself in Stiles’ mind. This stuff isn’t going to disappear overnight, no matter how much Stiles wants it to.

The car ride back to the apartment is short, but there’s private parking near a back entrance and they seem blessedly alone. The walk up the stairs to their place seems long and Stiles’ body is aching with exhaustion, aware of Derek hovering not far behind him.

Stiles turns around. “I don’t really think I’m up to dinner tonight,” he says, keeping his gaze to the floor.

“Oh,” Derek says. “Okay. Tomorrow?”

Stiles shrugs. “Maybe,” he replies, distant.

Derek’s disappointment hangs in the air, but Stiles doesn’t care, the shock of the day still settling in his bones. He goes into his room and collapses on the bed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I was going to post the chapter yesterday but something came up, so here it is now :) Hope you all like it!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to bleep0bleep :) :)

“So you’re okay?” Scott asks him, over the phone. Stiles sighs, not sure how to answer. He’s fine now, regarding the paparazzi and the photos that found their way on to the Internet, but nothing is fine at the same time.

“I guess,” Stiles replies.

“Okay,” his friend says carefully. “You have nothing to worry about. Just make sure that you have security with you when you go out. I’m making sure your father takes his pain meds and that he’s eating healthily, so that’s taken care of.”

Stiles pauses, suddenly remembering the sound of pain that had escaped his father’s lips when he reached for the suitcase. God, that had been a bad day and now that his father’s gone, Stiles never thought he’d miss him this much.

Stiles sort of hates the fact he’s on opposite sides of the country to almost everyone he knows.

“Um, is he okay?” Stiles says, shifting on his seat and talking quietly when Derek strolls into the kitchen. His hair is plastered to his forehead and he’s rubbing his eyes, a book under his arm. He stills when he sees Stiles on the phone.

“Yeah,” Scott tells him.

“I wasn’t there,” Stiles admits, trying to be vague as he feels Derek’s eyes on him. “When it happened.”

“When he got shot?” his friend asks, and Stiles lets out a small noise of confirmation.

He can’t stop the guilt that comes rushing through when he realizes he wasn’t there for his father in the hospital, but at the same time he’s strangely grateful, not at all sure how he would have handled that situation. He can’t bear to think about it, think about the possibility of almost losing another parent.

“You were though, Stiles. You were there.”

Stiles frowns. “It doesn’t feel like it,” he mutters. “I fucking hate this.”

He knows that they could afford his father’s medical costs with the money he made selling the rights to his books, knows that if he wasn’t famous or something, that his father might be worse off. So he has to be grateful.

But then he remembers the cameras and the men and how horrible it felt to be followed down the street.

“Stiles,” Scott says, patient. “You were there when he got hurt. It’s okay.”

It doesn’t make Stiles feel any better to hear it, because he doesn’t remember any of it. How can something have happened if he has no recollection of it? It’s like waking up with a hangover, mind fuzzy, but instead of forgetting the whole night it’s the last six years that have disappeared.

He sighs and lets his friend go, with a promise to call each other soon. Derek is still there, staring at him, expression tight. Stiles almost forgot he was listening, and wonders how much he heard.

Stiles looks up, frustrated. “He – my Dad. He’s all I have left.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s spoken to no one. Hell, he doesn’t even know why he’s sharing this with Derek and immediately regrets it when Derek’s face is surprisingly stony. Stiles wonders if he’s going to say _you have me, too, you wouldn’t be alone because I’m here,_ but he doesn’t.

Instead he says, quiet and honest, “I know, but um –” Derek glares at the floor, trying to search for the words. “It doesn’t mean that – you can’t just snap at me like you did the other day.”

Stiles blinks a few times before his lips part, feeling small, feeling more than ever that he’s in someone else’s home. This is probably the first time Derek’s called him out on his behaviour and it stings more than it should.

Before he can reply, can come up with a reason or an excuse, Derek is already looking horrified at himself, like he’s afraid Stiles is about to jump up and leave.

“Sorry, I, um, sorry,” he clears his throat. “I know how stressful it was for you then, and it must be stressful now, it’s just – you’re –”

Derek doesn’t finish his sentence. Stiles doesn’t want him to, and anger trickles over his skin because it’s impossible for anyone to understand anything about the situation he’s in. He barely has it in him to accept that Derek didn’t ask for any of this either.

He watches Derek traipse around the kitchen, setting his book on the counter. Stiles, lost in his own head, only hears quiet as Derek pours muesli into a bowl, as he grinds some coffee beans and uses the complicated looking machine on the kitchen bench to make his drink.

The air is thick with tension and Derek looks dead tired, keeping his gaze away from Stiles until he shoves a mug under his nose.

“The doctor said you can drink coffee now, didn’t he?”

Stiles takes a moment to nod. He takes one look at the mug and it smells a little sweet, like vanilla. He wrinkles his nose.

“Dude, I drink my coffee black.”

“No you don’t,” Derek’s forehead creases, and then his expression turns flat. “Oh. Right.”

He takes away the steaming mug and pours it down the sink before Stiles can even decide to taste it. Derek’s shoulders curve forwards, his lips pressed thinly together, and Stiles can see his patience slowly slipping away.

Maybe he’s falling out of love with Stiles. The sudden thought scares him more than he thought it would, and Stiles curses the time it’s taking for his memories to come back.

He wants Derek, he does. But not like this. Not at all like this, where he can’t remember a single moment they’ve had together. It’s too strange and Stiles is too different, and he can’t stand the idea of acting like things are fine between them when they’re not. Derek doesn’t love him and Stiles hates the lie that says he does.

\--

“Lydia.”

She raises an eyebrow at his flat tone. “This is important,” she says. “I need you to at least read your books, Stiles. I know you haven’t yet.”

He closes his eyes and fights back a scowl, remembering his name printed on the cover in bright letters. It’s not as easy as simply opening a book and reading one word after another. It’s his story, his world, but it doesn’t belong to him anymore. It’s a stranger’s.

“I’m not even asking you to start writing again,” Lydia says softly. “Just to read them. Look, Derek agrees with me.”

Derek startles at the edge of the room, forever hovering, and he throws a quick look towards Stiles. Lydia should know better than to think Derek has any say about this. No one has any say except Stiles, and Stiles isn’t going to read his books anytime soon.

Some nights, he thinks about it. Every so often he takes a midnight trip to the small office room and just stares at the many copies, fingers trembling and his head pounding until he turns away and throws himself on his bed.

It’s easier to avoid it.

Derek comes over and tentatively sits on the edge of the couch, trying to catch Stiles’ eye and see if it’s okay for him to stay there. It’s like Derek can’t do anything he wants in his own home anymore. Stiles tries not to roll his eyes, tries not to notice the faintly pleased look that emerges on Derek’s face when Stiles doesn’t object to him sitting there.

“I do think you’ll like them,” Derek says, voice alarmingly soft.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Stiles says. “Everyone likes them.”

Lydia snorts. “Not everyone, Stiles. You are not popular among some circles.”

“Whatever,” Stiles says, though he’s a little curious. “Can we please just stop talking about this? I’m not going to read anything. I’ll just wait until it all comes flooding back,” he mutters. Lydia says nothing. Derek looks hopeful and sad.

“Now, I understand you had a run in with the paparazzi,” she says, glaring at Derek. He stares back at her, expression flat and she sighs. “It was unfortunately all over social media, so for God’s sake, Stiles, if you’re going to go out in public can you at least wear something decent?”

Stiles ignores her.

“Don’t give the paparazzi anything to make money off, Stiles. Don’t pay them any attention and you’ll have Frank to keep you out of trouble,” she says firmly, but she exchanges a glance with Derek who bites his lip, looking anywhere but at Stiles.

He sends them both a narrowed look, wondering if he’ll ever find out what they’re hiding.

“Please, Lydia,” he says, “Can we just hang without having to talk about this business stuff?”

“I’m your manager, Stiles,” she says dryly, “What did you expect?”

“Come on, are we not friends anymore? I just want to have lunch or something. You know I’ve always had a soft spot for you.” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, not noticing the way his husband stiffens.

Lydia looks at him carefully, eyes on Stiles for a little too long. Then she glances at Derek, and his teeth are gritted together, fingers wound tight around each other as he glares at the floor.

“Fine,” she says. Stiles beams. Then Lydia turns to Derek, putting all her papers away. “Walk me to the door?”

“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about here,” she whispers to Derek, her words barely audible. Then their voices fade away and Stiles wonders what the hell they are talking about, wonders why Derek went tense this time.

Stiles gives him a pointed look when Derek returns to the couch. Derek lets out a shaky breath.

“Don’t worry about, um, that,” he says, gesturing towards the door, the other hand scratching his cheek.

“I don’t plan to,” Stiles tells him, standing, not waiting around to see Derek’s expression fall for the umpteenth time. It’s one thing not wanting to hear about the things he did once, about the lots of tiny little memories that mean nothing to him but something to Derek, but it’s another thing to keep secrets.

He locks himself in his bedroom and five minutes later he hears Derek’s soft steps outside his door. Stiles twists on his stomach, feet dangling off his bed, and stares at the door, waiting for his husband’s gentle knock. It doesn’t come, and the floorboards creak a little when Derek walks away.

\--

They eat dinner in near silence, just the scrape of their cutlery against the plates filling the air. Stiles eats quickly, the food actually rather good, and he’s finished long before Derek, who keeps glancing up at him.

“What?” Stiles says, licking his lips.

“How was your day?” Derek asks carefully. Over his white shirt he’s still wearing a floral apron, and the pattern doesn’t match the slight frown that seems permanently etched onto Derek’s face.

Stiles shrugs, pushing his plate aside. He thinks about leaving the table but he’s not sure if he wants to push Derek’s limits. Maybe he should try a little harder to not be so cold. He stays, and Derek sits a little straighter, shovelling a happy mouthful between his lips.

“My day was good,” Derek offers. “I’m only a supporting character so I don’t have to be there all the time, which is nice. I like the time off. I’d like to maybe spend it with you – if you want.”

Stiles presses his lips together, but otherwise he keeps his face blank. He doesn’t want, really, even though he should be eager to get to know the person sitting in front of him. It’s not Stiles’ fault that Derek is a living, breathing reminder of everything he’s lost, and that almost every word out of his mouth is a reference to the past.

“Usually, though, I travel for work and we sometimes go overseas,” Derek continues, before smiling a little, eyes a little brighter when he sees that Stiles is still listening. “Your job is good, you can write wherever in the world, so we can stay together. I hadn’t really had that before, all my previous relationships tended to be long distance.”

“That makes sense,” Stiles says slowly, when Derek waits for his answer.

“We filmed in Iceland, once,” Derek says. “We liked it a lot. We were thinking about going back there for a holiday between jobs.”

Stiles drops his head into his hands, and Derek goes on about the hotel they stayed in, the scenery, how gorgeous it was, how much they want to go back, before his words trail off. Derek’s throat moves as he swallows, pushing away his plate and staring at Stiles like he’s afraid he’s said something wrong.

And he has, God he has, because Stiles doesn’t want to hear any of that. He doesn’t want to know about their trips, about the happy times because it’s not fair. Stiles can imagine it all but he doesn’t care about hearing the things he missed out on. It just feels like someone has been walking and talking for him, he feels like it’s someone else who has been holding the puppet strings for his own life.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, “Are you – what’s wrong?

“I just,” he grits his teeth together. “I don’t want to hear about all those memories you have, okay? I just don’t.”

Derek falters, a palm sliding across the table and stopping shy of Stiles’ fingers. Stiles pulls his hand away. “I – but I want to share them. They belong to you too, not just to me.”

Stiles closes his eyes and he tries to breathe slow, tries not to snap but it’s hard not to. Getting angry, wanting to yell, it’s all that he’s been feeling lately. Sometimes he likes to close his eyes, likes to try and convince himself that when he opens them again he’ll be back at home, back to studying for his exams. The illusion often feels wrong, sour, and it doesn’t help, not really, but Stiles can’t help it.

It’s better than this, better than his husband’s face closing down once again in front of him. It’s better than having to sit through Derek’s attempts at telling Stiles about their life together, like it’s somehow going to be the same thing as actually living it.

“Derek, stop, okay?” Stiles says, voice shaky, “Just stop. I don’t want to hear it – I don’t ever want to hear it, okay, because while I don’t have my memories, we’re never going to get those moments back. There’s no point.”

“Stiles –”

“None,” he says firmly, and before Derek can say anything, Stiles leaves like he always does.

\--

He dreams of airports and hotels and fancy dinners and Derek. He dreams of getting distracted while unpacking suitcases, falling into Derek’s arms and kissing him and kissing him until Derek presses him onto the bed. It’s their first time to Iceland and Stiles wants to savour it, wants to write as much as he can while Derek works and be with his husband all the rest of the time.

Derek’s mouth works its way down Stiles’ body, down to the waistband of his jeans and then Stiles has to stop him, has to push him away. “Derek – I – no, we’re not there yet,” he says, and Derek looks up, confused, stroking Stiles’ hipbone like he can’t understand why Stiles is stopping him, why he’s claiming they’ve never done this before, and then Stiles doesn’t know where he is, doesn’t recall walking through that hotel door. The panic starts, getting stronger, and then with a jolt, he wakes.

Stiles’ skin is sweaty and he knows he made it all up. None of it was real and he’s trying to breathe, suddenly hit by the fact that it’s all gone. He’s lost so much time, so much of his life.

It takes a while for him to relax, the lights still on around him and he knows he fell asleep while browsing mindless sites online. It’s barely past midnight.

“Keep it together, Stiles,” he mutters to himself, rubbing his eyes, reluctant to fall asleep again. His throat is dry and his knees wobble when he gets to his feet. Stiles’ steps to the kitchen to get a glass of water are slow and he opens his bedroom door quietly.

He pauses. Derek is there, and Stiles can see the back of his head and the striped pyjama pants that curve over his ass. He’s speaking, voice quiet and frustrated, into a phone.

“No – you know what it’s like here – fine, he, why am I telling you this?” Derek pauses before he lets out a reluctant, broken chuckle. “He – he doesn’t remember me, he doesn’t remember anything. I don’t know what to do.”

Stiles stills, chest tightening. This is worse than his nightmare because this is real. Derek is speaking to someone about him. It’s unsettling not knowing who is on the other end of the phone, and Stiles is too thrown to face Derek and yell at him. So he just stands there, lip quivering as he listens.

“No, don’t visit, I’m fine – no, I don’t need anyone. I’m sure. He’s – yeah –  he’s more stubborn than he was, I guess, worse even than when we met – Cora, don’t say that – he just won’t let me in. He won’t. It’s not his fault. I just don’t know what to do.”

Derek sighs. “I love you, too. I won’t. Goodnight.”

He hangs up the phone and Stiles hates this. He hates how much two people’s lives can change from a single accident. He wants – _he needs_ – his memories back.

\--

The doctor is not expecting him. Stiles has Frank waiting outside, looking relieved that Stiles called for his help outside Stiles’ usual appointment times. A few people send him second glances, but most of them work at the hospital and they don’t stop Stiles or ask him for his autograph again.

“Mr. Stilinski –”

“Look,” Stiles pleads. “I need my memories back, okay, then I won’t feel like my life happened without me and things can get better. Please, is there something we can do? Something faster than all the pointless shit you’ve had me do already?”

His doctor rubs his face, hands covering his expression for a long moment. Then, his arms drop, and he looks pained. “Mr. Stilinski, I know it must be very hard for you –”

“You don’t know half of it,” Stiles mutters.

The man sighs. “But we’ve tried everything. Some time has passed already and I don’t want to get your hopes up. Your memory is not coming back, Stiles. It’s not, and I was going to tell you in the next few weeks.”

Stiles huffs. “You can’t just – that’s not how this doctor thing works. You’re supposed to fix it.”

The doctor gives him a sad look and he stands, like his business with Stiles is now finished. “I can’t fix everything, Mr. Stilinski, and I can’t fix this. It will be hard to accept, but it’s something you must do if you want to move forward.”

Stiles’ mouth opens, ready to speak, hearing the words but not really registering what they mean. Then – then it hits him so hard he can’t breathe. He feels like the weight of the world is crushing him and before the doctor can say another word Stiles is barrelling out of his office and down the corridor.

He finds an empty room, the bed stripped back, and Stiles slams the door, collapsing underneath it so that no one can see him through the large window.

This isn’t real. His memories are going to come back; they have to, because Stiles doesn’t know what he’s going to do without them. He can’t keep living like this. He can’t keep having to live with Derek and the ghost of his past life. It’s too fucking hard and Stiles doesn’t believe anything that doctor tells him. He’s wrong. Wrong. Even if it’s the truth.

“Fuck,” Stiles whimpers, eyes prickling, trying to stop the tears from flowing. God, he’ll never be able to look Derek in the eye again, knowing that what they had is lost. Stiles will never be the person Derek fell in love with.

He’ll never get used to the paparazzi, he’ll never figure out what’s going on with his fucking books, and he’s never going to know his husband. Stiles catches a glimpse of his wedding ring and in a mad impulse he rips it off his finger and throws it across the room.

Stiles hears a soft noise when the metal hits the ground and his breathing slows. He closes his eyes. When he opens them again he can’t see the ring and his stomach drops.

“No, no, oh shit,” he says, scrambling forward, hands sweaty. The ring has come to a stop underneath the bed and Stiles reaches for it, almost dropping it again, heart beating out of his chest. Once he grabs the ring, he stuffs it on his finger and he vows never, never to take it off again, even if he never gets to have Derek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments, it's super nice to read them :) Things are going to get better sometime soon, depending on how close I stick to my chapter outlines.
> 
> :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the amazing bleep0bleep!

“You’re not going to tell Derek where I’ve been?” Stiles asks. His driver has seen the redness of his eyes, his tear streaked face, and must know something happened at the hospital. Stiles doesn’t know what his answer will be, Frank’s loyalties have to lie with Derek, but the man still gives Stiles a kind smile.

“Of course not,” he says.

Stiles breathes out. When he gets to the apartment, it’s empty. It gives him time to figure out what to say to Derek but Stiles doesn’t come up with anything. He knows he’s going to say nothing. When Derek comes home Stiles will find it hard to look him in the eye, he’ll answer Derek’s questions about his day with vague words, and he isn’t going to tell Derek that he’s never going to get his memories back.

Stiles is just going to pretend that nothing’s changed, until he figures out what to do. Stiles doesn’t even know if Derek’s going to want him, or if he’s always going to be looking for the Stiles that isn’t here.

Throat dry, he stares at himself in the mirror and he’s left with the shell of the person who came before him. Stiles turns on the shower again and this time he does cry. The water is too hot and it almost makes him dizzy, and when he gets out of the bathroom he tells himself over and over again that he’s got to look like nothing’s changed. That he’s still waiting for the memories to come back. That way Derek will still be hoping for something good with Stiles.

Derek knocks on his bedroom door as soon as he gets home, and despite Stiles’ efforts he seems to know something is wrong straight away, lips settling into a frown.

“Hi,” Stiles says, voice a little hoarse. He coughs, trying to clear his throat.

Derek’s eyes linger, one hand resting on the door handle. “I was wondering what you’d like to eat tonight.”

Stiles shrugs, claims he doesn’t mind.

When they eat, the meal moves slowly, and Stiles sits across from his husband, staring at his rumpled hair, at the tomato paste smeared just under his jaw. Stiles wonders how long he gets to have this, thinks it might depend on whether or not he can keep his mouth shut, or whether Derek gets sick of being with the person he clearly didn’t marry.

\--

He waits until Derek’s light is off in the spare bedroom before he walks quietly to the office. Stiles sees his books easily, almost taunting him, and it’s painful to realize that he’s never going to remember writing them.

His heart thuds, more than a little scared that his books won’t make any sense to him. The battered, loved copy is missing. There’s space in the shelf where it should be and Derek must have taken it, maybe to read it again as a reminder of the Stiles who actually knew him. The thought stings but Stiles grits his teeth, choosing a random copy before leaving the office and falling onto one of the couches in the living area. He starts to read.

At first he can’t get used to it, but the beginning words are at least a little familiar. Stiles wrote those words, once upon a time, when he should’ve been studying for exams.

Stiles’ fingers tremble each time he turns the page, and it’s only a little victory when he reaches the end of the first chapter. It’s – it’s not _bad,_ but it’s already feeling less and less like he wrote it, even though the characters are the same, even though The Stranger sits at the edge of Stiles’ fictional world.

He takes a small comfort when Derek’s character turns up in the pages. Stiles doesn’t know why. He sort of feels less alone. Derek’s character tries to find the identity of The Stranger, tries to do what his Queen says, even though she’s the same girl he once saw in rags, stealing.

At least, that’s the plan if Stiles’ timeline has stayed the same.

He hopes to God that it has.

It’s early morning and Stiles’ face is pressed against a cushion, book open and unfinished by his head. Reading each word has been even more exhausting than he thought it would be, too many little details on the pages that must mean something to him, the author, but don’t yet.

Derek sees him there, his footsteps drawing Stiles from his doze. Stiles freezes when Derek does, when Derek realizes what he’s doing and sees the book near Stiles’ fingers.

“You – you’re reading them?” Derek says, a slow, nervous smile starting up on his face. In an instant he looks lighter, lips pink and pretty, his hair a mess and pyjamas looking soft to the touch. Stiles sits up, looking at the floor, his voice rough.

“I – it’s weird,” he says.

Derek nods, but he looks so pleased and Stiles can’t bring himself to say how difficult it is to read his stupid books. It’s going to be even worse when Stiles moves onto the second one.

Derek bites his lip, sitting down opposite Stiles. “Do you want me to tell Lydia that you’re reading them?”

Stiles shakes his head. “No, don’t,” he says. “She’ll want to know why I started.”

“Why did you start?” he says softly, and Stiles almost wants to answer him – almost. But Derek doesn’t get to play the husband card and Stiles isn’t going to tell him. It’s tempting, and sometimes it’s hard for Stiles to keep a secret, but he can’t know what the doctor said, not yet.

Stiles pales and something must show on his face because Derek stops, glancing towards the kitchen. “I think she wants to look into the movie negotiations for the second book, that’s all, and it would help if you’ve read it.” He pauses. “And watched the first movie.”

“Oh.”

Derek gives a quiet smile, a few words of encouragement escaping his lips before he leaves Stiles alone. Stiles rubs his eyes and lets out a sigh, reaching for his novel. It would be so easy to never pick it up again, and he knows that if he doesn’t continue reading it now he’s never going to.

For the rest of the day, the books stay unmentioned but Stiles still sits on the couch, eyes scanning the pages. His heart lurches once or twice, when there’s a seemingly important character he never remembered creating, when something doesn’t happen the way that’s already in his head.

It’s frustrating, and Derek keeps looking over at him, hopeful, like this is the start of their lives getting better. But Stiles knows that even if this is progress it’s not everything.

Then it’s midnight, there’s a glass of warm milk in Stiles’ hands, the first book finished. “It’s good,” he says, almost surprised by it, and Derek stands on the opposite side of the kitchen counter, eyes soft.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

“I’m so fucking clever, you know, coming up with all that,” Stiles boasts, because no one’s stopping him.

Derek smiles, easy, and Stiles is warmed by it. Then he wonders how much he’ll get to see that smile in the coming months, and the answer is probably not at all because his brain has gone stupid, his memory is a blank space. The accomplishment of reading the entirety of his first novel, of getting through it even though it felt foreign, seems to dissipate.

“Stiles?” Derek whispers.

“I’m going to bed,” he says quickly, not meeting Derek’s eyes. “I – see you tomorrow or something.”

Derek’s frowning when he leaves.

\--

The person at the door doesn’t even knock. There’s the twist of a key in the lock, Stiles drops his book – the second one – and it can’t be anyone he knows. Lydia already came around this morning, to have a very one sided conversation about the new movie, and Derek’s out filming.

There’s the sudden flash of the photographers in his mind, and the choking fear that someone he doesn’t know is about to walk through that door and figure everything out hits him hard. Stiles gets to his feet when a long swish of dark hair appears by the door.

“Who the hell are you?” Stiles yells, and the girl just smirks. Stiles searches for some kind of weapon, anything, though the woman simply stands there, staring at him like he’s an animal in the zoo. “I’ll call the police,” he says, vibrating out of his skin.

She shrugs. “There’s no need,” she says, dragging a suitcase into the room. Stiles’ mouth opens in shock and he has no idea what’s going on. This woman could be so many things, could be someone who tells the whole world about what’s wrong with him. She peers at him. “This is so _weird._ ”

Stiles stares warily at her, and she just plops down on the couch.

“I’m going to call security,” he warns, nostrils flaring.

The woman snorts, folding her arms, dark eyes staring at him. Stiles realizes he must know her, that she’s been to the apartment before, but that doesn’t make this situation okay. It’s almost terrifying having her here, deliberately not introducing herself even though she seems to know that Stiles has no recollection of her.

“God, I knew you lost your memories but there’s _nothing_? You really don’t know me?” she asks. She lets out a breath. “Must have been way worse for Derek.”

“Who are you?” Stiles hisses, ready to text Frank, or even Derek, to explain who this chick is. He hates how unhelpful she’s being, but she doesn’t seem to care, raising her chin defiantly.

“Cora,” she says finally. He relaxes a fraction because he’s heard that name before, when Derek was on the phone.

Stiles bristles. Anyone could have listened to that phone call and figured out that things aren’t easy for Derek right now. And anyone could have sourced those problems back to Stiles, could have seen that he’s the reason Derek had sounded so broken.

It’s probably why Cora’s being so unhelpful.

“I’m his sister,” she tells him. He stares at her coldly. “Don’t get angry at Derek because I surprised you,” she says, though she narrows her eyes, like getting angry at Derek is all Stiles has been doing recently. “He didn’t know I was coming.”

“Are you crazy!” he yells. “You can’t just –” Stiles scowls. “Did you even think about calling before you came here?”

“Decided against it,” she says.

“And you’re really Derek’s sister?” Stiles pushes. She rolls her eyes in return, tells him to _google_ it and Stiles can’t believe this is happening.

He sits down again, hoping she doesn’t notice his fingers shaking. Stiles stuffs his book under one of the cushions, not wanting Cora to know that he’s reading them, unsure about what she might say.

Stiles doesn’t want her out of his sight, and she takes the opportunity to ask him questions, Cora’s voice full of curiosity. He doesn’t answer her, they’re all about the past, small things that mean nothing, confirming that Stiles doesn’t know shit about anything. It’s almost fun for her.

Cora walks around the apartment like she knows it, frowning when she sees that Derek’s occupying the spare bedroom. She doesn’t have to ask where in the kitchen the food is kept, seems to know the place better than Stiles and he’s the one that lives here. It’s a bit of a nightmare, and Stiles has never been so glad for Derek to come home.

Stiles glares at him as soon as he walks inside, and the hurt flickers on his husband’s face until he catches a glimpse of his sister.

“Cora,” he breathes, and then Derek’s striding forward, arms open. Cora pats his head as they embrace, and it lasts for awhile, Derek’s arms tight around Cora’s waist.

“I missed you, too,” she says, voice muffled.

Derek pulls back, eyes a little wet, like he’s aching for something familiar and his sister is it. He turns to Stiles, but he still has a sour look on his face, and Derek’s expression turns flat.

“Cora,” he says.

“What?”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

She gives him an innocent look, stepping back and looking at her nails. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I told you I was fine.”

“I didn’t believe you,” she hisses.

Derek breathes out slowly, eyebrows knitted together, before he turns to Stiles. “This is my sister,” he says. “She did introduce herself, didn’t she?”

“Eventually,” Stiles mutters, shrugging. He has no idea what to say. At least Cora is looking a little sheepish, like maybe it was a bad idea to surprise someone suffering from amnesia that also has prevalent security concerns.

Derek takes a step towards him, hand reaching out maybe to touch his arm, his shoulder, to offer an apology for his sister’s sudden arrival. Stiles shuffles away before he feels the warmth of Derek’s fingers, sliding out of the room so he doesn’t have to be around while the two siblings catch up with each other.

He can hear their voices when he’s in his room, Derek telling her off again. They forget to go quiet when they start to talk about him, and Stiles hears Cora’s voice, dark and adamant and impatient. “Of course I love Stiles, of course, but from what you've said and I've seen already, he could be nicer to you, Derek.”

Stiles shoves his face in his pillow, not wanting to hear it. Not even wanting to hear the amount of patience Derek has, how much he doesn’t blame Stiles for anything that’s happening, even though Stiles is cold, even though the man Derek married is long gone.

\--

“So,” Cora says, the next morning. Derek’s already left with strict instructions for his sister to not be too difficult, though he kissed her cheek before he left for work. Stiles forgets to say goodbye to Derek and Cora’s looking at him like there’s something wrong with him. Maybe there is, but that means there’s always going to be something wrong with him, and Stiles hates her scrutiny.

“What?”

“What are you doing today?”

“I’m going to one of my appointments,” Stiles says stiffly.

“I’ll come with you,” she says.

“That’s okay. Frank will take me.”

Cora shrugs, ignoring him even as Stiles’ hints get less and less subtle. He doesn’t want her there but in the end he has no choice, Cora far too pushy. Frank seems delighted to see her as they drive to the hospital, and at least Stiles doesn’t have to talk because the two fill the silence. All Stiles can remember is the last time he was there.

“I’ll wait outside,” she says.

“I might be some time,” Stiles says flatly.

She shrugs. “Okay, I’ll do some shopping then we’ll pick you up and have a coffee or something.”

Stiles’ nostrils flare and he tries not to stomp to his appointment. He has a therapy session and they’ve been going slowly, Stiles too stubborn for them to be any help. He’s aware they’re supposed to make him ‘better’ but that word is hard to define. Maybe they’re supposed to make things ‘easier’ but he doesn’t think that dealing with this kind of life is going to be anything other than hard.

Cora’s waiting for him in the car afterward, a couple of shopping bags in her hands. “I use Derek’s credit card,” she tells him.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “That’s my money too,” he says, even though he doesn’t really care.

She rolls her eyes. “You never had a problem with me using it.”

Stiles is about to tell her that _things have changed_ , that Cora can’t expect Stiles to be okay with the same things as before.

“Where do you want to go for coffee?” she asks.

“I don’t!” The words burst out of Stiles. “I want to go back to the apartment, I want to be left the fuck alone and I don’t want to be in public where there are cameras I’m not used to, where there are people itching to get a picture of me! Okay?”

Cora shuts down. “Okay,” she stutters, before telling Frank to take them back to the apartment. Stiles can see their driver’s face in the rear view mirror, his expression between pained and amused. Stiles slams the car door when they’re dropped off, ignoring Cora as soon as they get inside.

When Derek comes home he looks hopeful, like maybe they got on with each other. He knows he should be friendly to Derek’s family, to his husband’s family, but Stiles can’t even figure out if they liked each other before.

Cora looks at him like he’s just kicked a puppy whenever he accidentally snaps at Derek, seems to narrow her eyes every time Stiles doesn’t let them talk about the past.

He has his reasons. He doesn’t have to explain them.

And it’s easy to get angry when the alternative is to feel miserable. The past won’t come back, there’s no point in going back to it, and Stiles doesn’t want another reminder of what he’s lost. It’s too fucking hard.

“Cora, please,” Derek says, staring at his sister with wide eyes. They’re sitting around the table, dinner in front of them. The day has already been long. Stiles stabs his food.

“What?” she says. “All I’m saying is that Stiles could at least talk to you. Talk. It’s not hard.”

“Just drop it,” Derek snaps, “You’re not helping.”

Cora’s lip curls. “But –”

Derek’s look stops her from speaking, and at least he’s sort of sticking up for Stiles. There’s that. They both get why Cora’s being like this, because Stiles hasn’t exactly made things easy for Derek, but that’s because he refuses to live a lie.

Her words still hang in the air, truth coating them. Stiles could try harder – he could ask Derek about his day, could ask about when they got together, was it easy, what did the world say about it, but the thought makes him uneasy. Stiles is not sure if he can handle knowing all that stuff yet.

“Derek,” she says, voice stripped.

“Just change the subject,” he says.

“Fine,” she replies curtly. “How’s Lydia?”

Derek gives her a flat look. It’s full of meaning that Stiles can’t decipher and then the talk around the table goes dead as they finish their meals. Cora leaves the table first, migrating to the spare room. She’s kicked Derek out and he’s sleeping on the couch again.

As soon as she’s gone, Stiles expects maybe for Derek to apologize on her behalf. It doesn’t come and they don’t even look at each other, tension in the air, and it’s likely that way because Derek agrees with some of what his sister says. He thinks that Stiles should be talking to him, should be making an effort.

Derek doesn’t clean the dishes that night, even though it’s normally the first thing he does after dinner. He gets ready for bed quickly, even though it’s barely nine o’clock. He can’t disappear into a room like Stiles can, can’t pretend everything’s okay as he unfolds the blankets by the couch.

Stiles’ novel is sitting on the coffee table, put there the night before by careful hands, a makeshift bookmark holding Stiles’ place.

An hour later there’s a soft knock on his bedroom door. It doesn’t sound like Derek so Stiles braces himself, opening the door to find Cora, her eyes not meeting his.

“Sorry about before,” Cora mutters. The air feels cold. “I just want him to be okay, and he’s not, so. And – and I’m not used to being the one who comes and looks out for him.” Her eyes are a little lost and she doesn’t think or bother to explain.

Stiles looks at the floor, all his fight leaving him. He doesn’t want Derek to be unhappy either, thinks one person suffering is already too much and it’s unfair that Derek has to go through this too.

“But you’ll treat him better when you get your memories back,” she says, hopeful. “And you’re going to call yourself an idiot when it comes back and you see the way you’ve been acting.”

Stiles’ lip quivers. He takes one look over Cora’s shoulder, at Derek on the couch, covers pulled over his shoulder and pretending to sleep. The couch is a little short for him, his feet hanging off the end. It’s almost sad to look at, when Derek used to sleep in a warm bed with another person.

Stiles is afraid he’s going to fuck things up more than he already has, Cora’s presence only solidifying his fear. But Stiles doesn’t know what else to do. He doesn’t know how to make everything okay, especially when he hates not having control over the circumstances of his life.

And now Cora’s talking about the memories coming back, and Stiles thinks they’ll never be happy together, not if Derek’s always expecting another person, always _wanting_ another person. The one who was easy to be with.

“I guess,” Stiles replies quietly. Cora forces herself to grin, lightly punching Stiles’ arm before she retreats to her bedroom. But he hears her sigh, hears Derek adjust his position under the covers, probably having heard everything they said. Sometimes everything is too much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the little wait! Here's the chapter now :) I wrote some of it when I was in my lecture (oops).
> 
> Thank you very much for all your comments! They make me very happy and I'm so glad you're all enjoying the fic so far. I hope everyone's having a good week :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the lovely bleep0bleep for looking over the chapter :)  
> \--  
> There are super brief mentions of homophobia in this chapter, just to let you all know.

He has no idea how long Cora is going to stay. She’s been here a week already and Stiles might be warming up to her, but she doesn’t take no for an answer. She wonders aloud why Stiles has to be so dense, why he can’t make things easy for himself and just accept that he has a loving husband, a life that so many other people would want.

Derek, at least, seems happier with her here. He actually has someone to talk to at home, and he spends the evenings with his younger sister without having to be careful about what he says.

Stiles watches Derek being affectionate with Cora, hugging her when he leaves the apartment, kissing the top of her head when he says goodnight. It makes Stiles wonder what it would be like to have Derek’s arms around him, just for a moment, but Stiles shakes the thought away. That’s not going to happen any time soon.

But it’s nice to see Derek without a frown, even as Stiles is reminded that he’s the one who normally puts it there.

Her accusations slow down but they’re still there, pushing at Stiles, making him feel like shit whenever he isn’t easy on Derek. He gets why she’s doing it. Stiles hates seeing Derek so low, so exhausted by it all, but Stiles thinks pretending would hurt even more. There’s no way forward and everything’s hanging on the chance of Stiles’ memories coming back.

Cora stares at him one evening, dark eyes flickering.

“Can he trust you?” she says. “I know you don’t remember being with him, but you know the nature of his job. I can’t figure out what’s going on in your head when you snap at him so I want to know. Can he trust you?”

The question stings, her words feeling harsher than they really are. Cora raises her chin, daring Stiles to answer, and he hates that she even has to ask.

Stiles should have a vested interest in keeping Derek’s secrets because anything they say about him will come back to Stiles. They’re connected. But it’s not the same as the trust they must have built up over the years and Stiles knows it, and he answers Cora’s question a little too late.

“Yes,” Stiles says. “Yes.”

“Really?”

Stiles gives her a cold look. He remembers the paparazzi and he would never, never wish that upon someone else. And he certainly wouldn’t inflict that on Derek. Cora just smiles, lips turning up like he’s passed some sort of test.

He’s hit, more often than not, with the sickening feeling that he has to say goodbye to all this once he lets slip that he’s never going to remember. He has to find Derek then, see the face that’s been plastered over magazines and large movies screens, and convince himself that he’s lucky. Stiles is lucky to have had even a little bit of Derek.

Stiles tries to be nicer. It’s easier when Derek doesn’t use past tense, when he doesn’t miraculously know something about Stiles that Stiles doesn’t know about himself.

“Have you finished your novels?” Derek asks him, drying some pots with a dish cloth. Stiles shakes his head, watching him, feeling hollow because sometime soon this might all disappear. “You should,” he says earnestly, before smirking.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek says quickly, turning around to hide his smile. Stiles hides his sigh and stares at the curve of Derek’s back. He wishes desperately for some answers, trying to figure out if Derek’s ever going to love him when he already loves someone else.

Stiles doesn’t know if he has a chance, if he should want a chance, and he thinks about all the people out there who are oblivious to what’s going on. They probably think Stiles and Derek are happy, that they’re still in love and rejoicing in the fact that Stiles woke up from his car accident.

“I hate this,” he mutters, keen on torturing himself.

Derek stops, turns around. “What?”

“It’s just – we’re not _together_ ,” Stiles says. “Not properly. But I guess, all our...fans... or whatever, they don’t know about the amnesia. They think we’re happy or something when we’re not.”

Derek’s lips part, a strangled noise coming out of his mouth, and Stiles knows he shouldn’t have said anything. He slides back his chair and stands, hating that he let his mind wander again. Stiles can’t bear to see Derek’s face right now and he turns around, knowing that he’s an idiot.

When he leaves he bumps right into Cora, and her eyes look murderous.

“Do you have to say things like that?” she hisses. Stiles’ jaw is tight, cursing himself, and he pushes past her, ignoring the way she protests. He hides himself in his bedroom and Stiles thinks that recently, he’s gotten good at hiding.

\--

Cora doesn’t knock when she strides into his room, a cup of tea in her hand. She sets down the drink on Stiles’ bedside table and pins him down with a distinctly unimpressed look.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” she asks.

“It’s none of your business,” Stiles snaps, but he’s glad for the company. Even if it’s the person who has been giving him shit all week. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt so alone, so lost. With Scott and his father on the opposite side of the country, Cora’s presence will have to do.

He takes the drink, rubbing his eyes. Cora’s mouth twists, like she’s trying to figure him out. It’s a lost cause.

She clears her throat, suddenly looking at the floor, her dark hair draped over half her face. Stiles thinks she’s going to mention Derek, thinks she might offer some kind of advice that he really doesn’t want to hear.

“Does Lydia come around here a lot?” is what she asks, voice surprisingly small.

Stiles blinks. “Yes.”

Cora lets out a breath and shuffles onto the bed, getting comfortable. She seems to be treading carefully, thinking about her words before she says them, and it’s very unlike her. Stiles groans, wondering if there’s something he should know that he doesn’t. Something that he forgot.

“Spit it out,” he says.

“What?”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Cora huffs. “It’s nothing.”

It takes a few more minutes of Cora sitting on his bed, silent, before Stiles turns back to his phone. He browses online, avoiding places on the Internet where he might be mentioned, where there are speculative articles about why Stiles is barely seen outside the apartment. More often than not, though, the gossip is about the upcoming movie.

Cora nudges his leg with his toes.

“Yes?” Stiles says, raising an eyebrow. As difficult as Cora is, she’s the only person Stiles really gets to talk to during the day, since he refuses to step outside.

“Are you in love with Lydia?” she blurts out.

His heart jolts from surprise, tea spilling on his shirt. The silence is heavy for a moment, but then Stiles starts to laugh, setting his cup down and clutching his stomach. He hasn’t laughed like this since he woke up, the expression on Cora’s face turning irritated, and Stiles laughs even harder.

Cora kicks him easily when he goes on for too long, her heel a sharp jab in Stiles’ leg.

“Hey!” he yells.

“It’s not funny!”

Stiles stays grinning, sitting up and holding out his hands. “Okay, okay, I guess you’re not completely deranged by asking that. We did go on a date that one time. Maybe a couple of dates. But it was in _high school_ and we’re better off as friends.”

Cora looks relieved. “You should tell Derek that.”

His smile drops. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, letting out a heavy sigh. “He doesn’t know that. All he knows is that you and Lydia used to have a thing together before you two met.”

Stiles goes quiet. Being in love with Lydia was so long ago, even for him, and it’s sometimes embarrassing to remember. He was rejected long before she said yes, and it never occurred to him that Derek knows about it.

“Well,” he mumbles. “You could tell him, that I’m not.” Stiles clears his throat. “Lydia’s just a friend.”

She snorts. “And you could tell him just as easily.”

Stiles sighs and throws her a dark look. He could do the talking, but then Derek would read between the lines and wonder why Stiles was even bringing it up, wonder if it was because Stiles thought they still had a chance when they don’t. It’s painful to think about so Stiles glares at Cora, wanting her to disappear.

“Is that all?”

“No,” she says, too quickly. “Um, but about Lydia... Are you going to see her anytime soon?”

“She’s going to take me out for lunch at the end of the week,” Stiles says, a little suspicious. Cora is getting to her feet, eyes not meeting his as she stares at the floor. “Not on a date,” he adds. Lydia’s organized somewhere they can go where they won’t be followed by the cameras, though, in case they get found Stiles has to wear something nice.

Cora’s lip quirks up. “Good to know.” She punches his arm, throwing him a smile, a small gleam in her eye that Stiles can’t make sense of. “And don’t worry, since you’re too dense to tell Derek anything, I will for you. Lydia’s out of the picture?” she confirms.

Stiles throws a pillow at her. “ _Yes_.”

\--

At the sound of Stiles’ footsteps, Derek’s eyes snap up.

The light is still on, Derek reading a magazine, but he’s already dressed for bed, a blanket over his lap. Stiles hesitates before walking forward, not sure what he came to say. He takes a deep breath and he’s grateful when Derek makes room for him on the couch.

They’re both silent but Derek watches him, only a couple of feet away. Stiles reaches for his book that’s been sitting on the coffee table since Cora arrived. He runs his thumb across the spine, figuring he should start reading it again, but Derek’s waiting for him to speak.

“Sorry,” Stiles mutters.

Derek stiffens beside him, but he leans forward, eyes careful as they scan Stiles’ face.

“I don’t mean to be a downer all the time,” he says.

“Believe it or not,” Derek finally says, “I want to know what’s going on in your head. Even if you are a downer.”

Derek’s expression is calm when Stiles chances a look at him. That was clearly an invitation to speak, to share what he’s feeling, but Stiles is worried he’d let something slip. He can’t let Derek know about the memories just yet, even if Derek will eventually figure it out.

Stiles runs a hand through his hair, skin feeling hot. He says nothing, and a few minutes later Derek turns back to what he’s reading. He doesn’t send Stiles away even when he starts to yawn, eyes drooping.

It’s sort of nice. Stiles keeps his book shut and he can see them, before, sharing space like this. It’s not the same, though, it can’t be, because he’s too aware of Derek next to him, too aware of how bad things are right now. Stiles wants to get up and leave, not sure why he came out here in the first place.

“I think I might go to sleep now,” Derek says quietly.

“Okay,” Stiles says, standing up, relieved. “Okay. That’s cool. I’ll go. Hope the couch is comfortable.”

He’s acting like he can’t wait to get away, and Derek notices, looking at his hands.

“It’s alright,” Derek admits. He pauses. “It’s not the first time you’ve made me sleep on the couch.”

“I didn’t make you do anything –” Stiles’ eyes narrow, but then he notices the slight, slight smirk on Derek’s face. He’s teasing him. “Oh.” He takes a step back, unsure what to do with this. It feels odd.

Derek has learned not to bring up anything about their life if he doesn’t need to, but right now, he stares at his fingers defiantly. Stiles’ nostrils flare but he’s too tired to get angry, and he feels lost about everything.

This is different. Derek’s talking about them _fighting_ , about them arguing to the point where Stiles kicked him out of their bed to sleep on the couch. He knows that couples aren’t happy all the time, that they have arguments and yell at each other, but Derek’s always alluded to a happy sort of life.

Stiles wonders what it would be like to yell at each other properly, to fight with Derek and not have him sitting here, all too patient, being careful not to scare Stiles away before the memories return. Their life before suddenly seems all too real.

Stiles barely mutters a goodnight before he disappears.

\--

The walls of the apartment seem to close in on him the longer he stays there. Stiles thought he’d never feel trapped in the place that’s supposed to be his home, but it feels worse now that he’s sharing the space with two people.

He doesn’t want to hear anything from Cora about how he’s treating her brother, because Stiles is sick of it and she doesn’t understand.

Stiles texts Frank and he leaves a note on the kitchen bench, disappearing quietly. There’s music coming from Cora’s bedroom and she doesn’t hear him leave. As soon as he’s out of the apartment door he feels something crawl over his skin, hoping desperately that there aren’t cameras hidden anywhere.

It’s different than going to the hospital, he’s used to that, but Stiles gets into the car anyway.

“Where did you want to go, Stiles?” the driver asks, seeming pleased that he was asked for help.

Stiles sinks into the car seats, unwilling to look outside even though the windows are tinted.

“The bookstore, you know, where we were before,” Stiles says. “I know it’s not far, and I could probably walk but...”

Frank nods, tells him that they’ll go around the block first and let Isaac know that they’re coming. Stiles feels a little safer with Frank by his side, but he still wishes he knew what to expect when it comes to the paparazzi.

They seem alone when they step into the empty bookstore, and Stiles lets out a sigh of relief. Frank is a calm presence next to him. Stiles can already see Isaac’s curly hair and the guy bounds to the door, looking pleased at their arrival.

“Stiles! What gives, man? You haven’t been here for ages.”

Stiles gives a sheepish smile, waves his hand in the air. It’s been a couple of weeks since Stiles saw him last, maybe a little longer, it’s hard to keep track of the time when he spends his days doing nothing inside.

“Uh, sorry,” he says, wondering if Isaac will be able to tell that there’s something wrong with him. The panic from before isn’t there, the shock from the cameras can’t be an excuse for acting weird or different. “I just needed to get out of the apartment. Derek’s sister is here,” he says, even though Cora’s only half of the problem.

Isaac dips his head knowingly, before he claps Stiles on the shoulder.

“Cora can be a handful. At least we’re used to it,” he says. Frank raises his eyebrows, and Stiles shoots him a pleading look, silently asking him to help if Stiles gets pushed into a corner, if he’s forced to talk about something he doesn’t know.

Stiles clears his throat. “Have you still got the... um, you know. You mentioned it before.”

Isaac nods. “Yeah, I managed to track down the first edition copies; they just want to confirm on the price you’d be willing to pay. I know that’s not a problem, but I wanted to check with you first.”

Stiles blinks. “I – I don’t know.”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this already, it’s a good gift. You know they’re Derek’s favorite books.”

He gives Isaac a strange look, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Stiles pouts. “I thought my books were Derek’s favorite,” he mumbles.

“Stiles,” Isaac says, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t need me to tell you why these are Derek’s favorites. Not your own.” His voice is hard and Stiles is strangely close to panicking again, faltering under Isaac’s dirty look. He has no idea what Isaac is talking about, but he ducks his head anyway, feeling chastised, and nods.

“Yeah, sorry,” Stiles says. “Um. Go ahead then. Let me know about the money.”

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll try and get it to you before the holiday.”

“Okay.” Stiles wonders if he should tell Isaac about the memory loss, if only to get all these new questions answered, but he can’t figure out how close they are. He doesn’t know if he should trust Isaac, despite what everyone else says.

Isaac’s looking at him again, like he’s close to figuring out that something’s wrong.

“Right, well,” Stiles says, hoping to distract him. “Not many customers.”

Isaac wrinkles his nose. “Not right now,” he says. “Bookstores are dying, but you know you and Derek give me extra publicity when you visit.”

Stiles nods, pretending he understands. Frank is browsing at the books, skipping past the ones that show Stiles’ name on the cover. It’s weird to see so many copies. It’s weird that people buy them, that they were on bestseller lists.

Isaac takes a step forward, running a hand through his hair. “Um, Stiles? I’m glad you came today but I have a favour to ask you?” he says, suddenly sheepish, like he’s never asked for a favour in his life.

Stiles freezes, hoping that it won’t be something he can’t deal with, hoping that he won’t need his memories for this.

“The plumbing upstairs has gone bust in the apartment, so I can’t stay there anymore,” he says. “And you’re so close by; I was wondering if I could stay with you while it gets fixed? It will only be a couple of days.”

Stiles stares at him, and he doesn’t know how to answer.

“Please,” Isaac adds, though he looks a little hurt that Stiles hasn’t agreed already.

“Cora’s staying,” Stiles says quickly, “So, um. I’ll have to check with Derek.”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “I’m all good with sleeping on the couch.”

Stiles takes another step back, heart beating wildly. Derek sleeps on the couch. Derek’s the one who has to unfold a blanket each night, who has to spend the nights without a mattress. And if Isaac stays, it will be impossible to hide the amnesia from him.

That scares Stiles more than it should.

“I – let me talk to Derek,” he says. “Do you need somewhere to stay tonight?”

Isaac frowns. “Yeah, I do.”

Frank is stepping in before Stiles can say anything else, smiling at Isaac before offering some excuse about leaving. Stiles is grateful, but guilt swarms up inside him at Isaac’s disappointed look. Maybe they were close friends after all.

When Derek comes home it’s later than usual, and Stiles has a text message from Isaac on his phone, wanting to know if he can stay. There are other contacts he doesn’t know on there, and sometimes they text him, but Stiles never replied and now they’ve stopped trying.

He’s probably lost all the friends he made over the past six years. Stiles doesn’t know them enough to care. It’s hard enough waking up to having a husband.

“Derek?”

“Yeah – yes?” he says, surprised. He puts down his bag and walks over to Stiles, where he’s waiting in the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

Stiles nods, noting the concern in Derek’s eyes. He explains as best he can, without letting Derek know why he was at the bookstore in the first place. The first edition books seemed like it was some kind of secret, and a little part of Stiles likes not being the only one who doesn’t know something.

“Yes,” Derek says immediately. “He can stay.”

Stiles leans back. “But – I’ll have to tell him about the amnesia.”

Derek looks pained, but he stays firm, hands quivering by his sides. “ _Stiles_ – I can’t turn him away, you’d understand – I promise you’d understand if you remembered.”

Stiles’ face turns dark, blood boiling because Derek’s never done this before. He’s never used Stiles’ condition as some kind of excuse for some course of action. “That’s not fair,” he spits.

“Stiles –”

“You can’t just say that! You have to tell me – you can’t just decide if some stranger can stay with us or not!” He’s close to yelling, and Stiles has to consciously keep his voice down, aware of Derek’s sister still in the apartment.

Derek grits his teeth together. “Isaac is not a stranger. I know I haven’t visited him in awhile, but I have to give him a place to stay.”

“Then tell me why, Derek!” Stiles yells, getting to his feet. “Why do I have to tell someone that I can’t remember him, why?”

Derek closes his eyes and puts his hands on the kitchen table. His shoulders look like they’re shaking and Stiles takes a breath, sitting down. He remembers that he can’t afford to act like this. The old him isn’t going to come back and any argument they have might burn bridges more than they have to.

“If you want me to tell you, I can,” Derek says quietly.

“Okay,” Stiles says. “It’s not about me, is it?”

“No,” Derek says, shaking his head.

“Then I, I can listen. Just, I really don’t want to tell someone I don’t know about my brain if I don’t have to.”

Derek nods, and Stiles listens as he explains. Isaac was in the same class as Cora at school, he needed help getting out of a shitty situation at home, and Derek’s family saw him through high school then college, gave him somewhere to live.

Derek was the one to give Isaac the money to buy the bookstore. They’ve known each other for years.

“Oh,” Stiles says.

“I’ll ring him now,” Derek says. “Let him know he can bring his stuff and stay here. Is that okay?”

Stiles nods, even though he knows the decision has been made without him. He doesn’t understand the situation the same way Derek does, but he can’t say no, even if he wants to.

An hour later Isaac turns up at the door, and he’s greeted warmly by Cora and Derek. Stiles stays in the kitchen, nursing a cup of warm milk, and Stiles has given up pretending to know who Isaac is. Their guest’s eyes are steely when they land on him, unsure as to why Stiles didn’t want to say yes straight away.

Stiles shrugs, and Derek touches Isaac’s elbow, leading him towards the couch with Cora in tow. They tell him about the memories. Isaac laughs. They say that the doctors still think there’s some chance they might come back. Stiles bites his tongue. They tell Isaac that Stiles has lost six years of his life. Isaac’s smile freezes on his face and he takes one look at Stiles, takes one look at him and realizes that they don’t know each other.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

“Yeah,” Derek says, rubbing his beard. Stiles stands up, ready to hide himself in his bedroom again.

“Wait, wait,” Isaac says. “You’re not – you’re still _you_ , right?”

That’s the question. Stiles doesn’t bother answering.

\--

Derek knocks on his door at about midnight. Stiles could hear their light chatter through the door, but he tried his best to ignore it. Isaac wants to see him. He wants to talk and figure out what Stiles is like, wants to see what he does remember.

Stiles isn’t interested in being some sort of spectacle right about now.

“Hey,” Derek says, voice soft. “Hey. I’m going to sleep in here tonight, if that’s okay.”

Stiles sighs, but he makes space for Derek on the other side of the bed. He expected this. The room is already dark and Stiles keeps his eyes on the silhouette at the edge of the bed. Derek carefully peels the covers back and Stiles tries to calm his own breathing, tries to calm his heart.

He’s sharing a bed with Derek, his _husband_. And it’s ridiculously awkward.

The bed is large enough that they don’t have to touch, but they both lie on their backs and stare at the ceiling. Stiles has to force himself not to think of what couples do when they’re alone, in the dark, because it sends an unwelcome chill down his spine.

As he tries not to think about the warm body next to him, Stiles turns over, squeezing his eyes shut. Apart from the occasional rustle of fabric he can almost forget that Derek’s there – almost. But it’s too tough a task.

Then Derek lets out a breath, and his words dance in the darkness of the room. “’Night, Stiles.”

\--

Stiles barely sleeps that night. He waits until Derek is breathing steadily next to him, fingers reaching out across the sheets to Stiles’ side of the bed. Stiles shuffles away and turns on the bedside light, making sure that Derek doesn’t wake.

It’s four in the morning and Stiles picks up his book. It’s hard to read but it’s getting good, and Stiles can almost forget that he wrote it. He turns the pages because it’s better than thinking about Derek next to him, and the words fly fast, and then he’s at the end of the book.

He swears loudly, dropping the book in his lap. Derek jolts awake beside him, clutching the bed sheets and staring at Stiles with a dazed expression.

“What’s wrong?” he slurs. Derek rubs his eyes, twisting in the sheets to look at the clock. It’s almost six am, almost time for Derek to get up anyway.

Stiles’ eyes are probably red, they feel sore, but it hardly matters. He’s just finished the book. He’s finished the last thing that’s been published and he did not see that coming. Stiles is the author and he did not see that coming.

“Stiles,” says Derek, a little more awake.

“Why the fuck did I kill off the Queen? It doesn’t make any fucking sense. She’s the only one who has figured out who the Stranger is? I left it on a cliffhanger, and I killed her off!”

Derek glances down at the open book, blinking as he takes in what Stiles has just said. His expression turns smug and he tips his chin up, tired eyes almost sparkling.

“What?” Stiles hisses.

“I – we were having a fight once. She – the Queen is my favorite character and _you_ threatened to kill her off because you were mad at me.”

Stiles sits up, frustration under his blood. Derek, the asshole, doesn’t even try to look understanding. Stiles wants to cry. This came out of nowhere and Stiles was surprised by a lot of what happened in his books but _this_. He killed off a main character. There’s so many things to solve now and _Stiles doesn’t know the answers._

“We were having a fight.”

Derek nods. “You weren’t serious. But a few days later you sat me down, like you were going to give me some really bad news, kind of like –”

“Being told you’ve lost all your memories?” Stiles says flatly.

Derek swallows, cheeks turning pink under his stubble.

Stiles lets out a whine. “Derek, why are you telling me this – I don’t, I don’t _care_ about our stupid fights, just tell me why I fucking killed her.”

He reaches out and touches Stiles’ arm, taking back his hand when Stiles flinches. “Please, let me finish, let me talk to you, okay?” Derek pleads, and Stiles wants answers so much that he doesn’t object. He bites his tongue and waits, waits for Derek to tell him why he made such a stupid decision, why he killed off the Queen.

“You sat me down and you said you had figured out something which involved her dying. It gives stronger motivation for the attack to occur, for my character to go and find the Stranger. You have notes somewhere – on your laptop. I can find it for you.”

Stiles blinks. “It’s all on my laptop?”

“Yeah,” Derek breathes, shuffling under the sheets. Stiles looks ahead, taking it in. He could look at them, he guesses, he could find them and understand how the characters find out who the Stranger is if the Queen isn’t there to tell them.

Oh, God. He can’t do that. In his notes is more than one plot detail, there’s probably every thought Stiles has had about the series. It would be worse to read than the published novels, Stiles thinks. Much worse.

Derek will know, though. Derek looks like he knows and Stiles pins him down with a stare, wondering how to go about this.

“Why is the Queen your favorite character?” he asks.

Derek looks away, hesitating. “She –” it takes a while for the words to come out “– she reminds me of my sister.”

Stiles stares at him blankly. “Cool?”

The silence weighs down on them and Derek looks like he wants to disappear. Stiles doesn’t know what he said, why it’s so much of a big deal, and Derek turns away, almost getting off the bed before he sits down again, clearing his throat. “Sorry, I, you know all this stuff already and it’s hard for me to talk about – I never had to talk about it with you more than I had to. She’s, my sister, Laura. She’s dead. Gone.”

Stiles stares at him, mouth dropping open. That – that was unexpected. How did he not know about Derek’s fucking sister? Does Derek have any more siblings other than Cora? Fuck, he knows absolutely nothing about his husband, nothing at all and it scares him more than it’s done before.

“How? When?” Stiles says, and shit, he’s an asshole. Stiles threatened to kill off the Queen, Derek’s favorite character because she reminded him of his _dead sister,_ during a fight. God, that must have been a harsh blow.

“Car accident,” Derek mumbles. “Before I met you. After you finished college.”

Stiles leans back on the pillows, and Derek looks like he’s going to leave again. Stiles’ fingers move to his elbow, touch feather light, urging him to stay. Derek startles but he sinks back into the bed, pulling the blankets over his torso.

“Look, Derek. You’ve got to tell me stuff. I don’t want some reporter to tell me first and then I fuck everything up because I don’t know how to answer.”

Derek rubs his face, and his voice is muffled when he finally speaks. “Okay,” he finally says. “Let me get a coffee.”

Stiles is left alone for a minute. He hears the coffee grinder from the kitchen and hopes Isaac doesn’t wake up. The six o’clock alarm goes off and Stiles bats at Derek’s alarm clock, cursing it as his head spins. If Derek’s sister, Laura, died from a car accident, it must have been a thousand times worse when Stiles got into one of his own. Talk about having bad luck.

“Alright, buddy,” Stiles says, when Derek comes back in, holding two cups of coffee. Stiles’ is black. “Talk to me.”

Derek sighs, perching himself on the end of the bed, large hands wrapped around his cup. “You actually want me to tell you about our life?” he asks.

Stiles nods. “Uh, yeah? You are listening to me, aren’t you?”

He receives a flat look. “Every time I’ve tried to tell you something about our life you’ve glared, snapped at me, or left the room.”

Stiles swallows. “I just need you to tell me the important stuff – not all those other...things.” He wrinkles his nose, waving his hand as he takes a sip of the drink.

Derek mutters over his coffee. “It’s all important to me.”

Stiles ignores him.

“That’s it, really. Laura’s gone. Cora tries to be her and make sure I’m okay,” Derek says, voice stiff. “It’s not the same.”

Stiles takes in a breath, watching the way Derek’s eyes don’t stray from the bedroom wall ahead of him. They sip at their drinks for a few minutes, and this other side of Derek comes through. He’s not – he’s damaged. And Stiles hasn’t been taking care of him.

“Anything else?” Stiles asks tentatively. “Anything important, I mean.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “One time you punched a photographer in the face because he was yelling out homophobic comments. There were a couple of headlines about how I was cheating on you.” Derek’s eyes go wide, and he assures Stiles that it was never true. Stiles believes him.

The morning is still early and Stiles wants to fall back to sleep, even with the caffeine in his hands. He’s barely slept and too many things have come as a surprise to him today. He glances over at Derek, still a little curious.

“Um,” says Stiles. “Do you know why I killed her off? I mean, how is it all going to work since she burnt the letter and no one else knows what she does?”

Derek’s smile is soft, saying nothing.

Stiles narrows his eyes. “You do know, don’t you?” He twists on the bed, leaning forward so that he can look Derek in the eye. Derek holds a hand up, smirk on the edge of his lips.

“You put me through not knowing,” Derek says. “And your fans. It’s only fair that you get a taste of your own medicine.”

“I haven’t even written the third book yet,” he says. “How do you know?”

“You told me,” Derek says. Then he hesitates. “I begged you.”

Stiles blinks, ignoring the soft shiver that image sends over his skin. “Tell me now,” Stiles demands, but Derek shakes his head. Stiles puts the coffee down, shuffling forward on the bed, getting into Derek’s space, almost angry. “Derek, for fuck’s sake, tell me now,” he says, watching how Derek’s having way too much fun with this.

“You could read all the fan theories,” he teases. “They’re quite interesting.”

Stiles glares, seething.

Derek sighs. “Only if you promise me something,” he finally says, looking hopeful.

“What?”

“You’ll take a look at your notes sometime soon. You have a copy on your laptop, I’m sure, and maybe a few backups. You wrote everything down in case you, uh,” his voice is stilted when he says the word ‘forgot _._ ’

Either way, if he wants to find out Stiles will have to read his notes. He’ll have the answers there or he can have Derek tell him right now, with the promise that Stiles will look at the notes later. “Fine, I’ll do it,” Stiles snaps, feeling cornered.

Derek smiles at him. “So, we were fighting, and that gave you the idea. At the same time you were getting some shitty comments and questions about our relationship, you know, two men together. There was also a push from your publisher about keeping the romance between my character and the Stranger all subtext, but you – _we_ – got pissed, so you killed off the Queen.”

“And? That doesn’t explain anything.”

“She’s not just my favorite character,” Derek says. “She’s the fan favorite, and you killed her off to make a point. She told her maid, the servant girl. The only person who knows what was in the Queen’s letter is her lover, the servant girl.”

It takes a moment for it to sink in, Derek’s waiting look at the edge of his vision. Stiles can see this all happening. From that very first review he read he knew people liked this character, knew they were somewhat attached.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes. “Oh. I killed off their favorite character and made the answer to the biggest cliffhanger I’ve written a female/female relationship.” Stiles starts to laugh, hand against his stomach. “That is going to piss off so many people. Fuck.” He chances a look up and Derek’s smiling at him, looking utterly gorgeous and for a terrifying second Stiles wants to kiss him.

He tones down his laughter, gasping for breath, feeling slightly dizzy as his eyes linger on Derek’s.

But the moment disappears quickly. Stiles’ fingers shake as he realizes they’re still in their bed, and that kissing Derek here isn’t far away from everything else that they’ve done. Stiles wonders how they were with each other, how often they had sex, and his heart races like it always does whenever he thinks about this.

He shuffles back, far enough away for Derek to notice. Stiles hates that he doesn’t know what he’s done with his body, doesn’t know what he’s done with the man in front of him. Stiles closes his eyes. And there might be others that he’s done stuff with, before he even met Derek, and Stiles can’t stomach that thought. It’s too hard.

Derek blinks, chest rising and falling slowly. “Stiles?”

He clears his throat. “Well. Um. Thanks for telling me.”

“Anytime,” he whispers back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading :) :) Hope you all liked the chapter!
> 
> And thank you so much for taking the time to write your comments :D I really appreciate it!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bleep0bleep!

“Things make a little more sense now,” Isaac says.

Stiles looks up. “Yeah,” he says, “For you.”

Isaac grimaces, peering down at his fingers. He can’t help but glance at Stiles every so often, like he’s trying to figure out if Stiles is still the friend he knew. At least he’s quiet. He hasn’t been asking the questions he clearly wants to, and Stiles doesn’t have to be reminded, constantly, of all that he’s lost.

“But, uh, do you still want to get Derek the books?” Isaac asks, smile tentative.

Stiles shrugs. “If you’re sure he’ll like them,” he says.

“Okay,” says Isaac, but then his voice fades as they hear footsteps. Stiles straightens, looking over his shoulder. He meets his husband’s gaze and Derek pauses.

“Hi,” Derek says.

“I’ll leave you two to it,” mutters Isaac, already aware of how things are between them. Then Stiles and Derek are alone in the kitchen, and Stiles has to take a deep breath. Things have been better since that morning. There are moments that are still strained, that still have the weight of the past hanging off them, but Stiles is trying harder not to snap, and Derek’s trying harder to talk about easy things.

“How was work?” Stiles asks quietly.

“Slow,” he says back, looking nervous. There’s so much it seems he wants to say, but Derek settles for a small smile and opens the fridge, reaching for a beer. “We had to redo a scene over and over again.”

“Do you even like it?” Stiles asks. “The acting?”

Derek looks surprised he’s even asking and takes a seat opposite him at the kitchen table. Derek’s clothes are rumpled and his hair is smothered in gel. If Stiles looks close enough he can see some of the makeup Derek didn’t wash off properly.

“Yeah, I like it,” he says. “The scrutiny and the cameras and everything aren’t so nice, and it’s not something you get used to, but I don’t really remember it being any other way. I’ve been an actor since I was a kid.”

Stiles looks down at his fingers, feeling his cheeks pink up. He remembers Derek when he was on that TV show, remembers his toothy smile and the way his hair stuck up in all sorts of directions. Stiles remembers liking Derek’s character way too much, and he’s as cute now as he was back then.

“Right,” Stiles says. “That’s good then, that you like it.”

He stares at Derek a moment longer, but neither of them knows what else to say. Stiles is sure he’s had this conversation with Derek already, years ago, and that makes this small amount of progress seem like nothing. They’ve got to go through these baby steps again, and Stiles doesn’t know if it will be worth it.

Derek’s still waiting for a miracle. Stiles is counting down the days until he finally tells his husband that the memories won’t come back.

Derek clears his throat. “Well, I’m uh, I’m going to take a shower.”

Stiles presses his lips together, trying to smile. When Derek shuffles away, Stiles drops his head to his hands. He wants to kick himself for wanting everything to work out. He’s seen a glimpse of a life with Derek and Stiles doesn’t know if he’s going to get it again. Stiles wishes he were the person that could make Derek happy.

Isaac lets out a low whistle when Stiles walks past him, on his way to the bedroom. “Man, you two used to be all over each other,” he says.

“Not helping,” Stiles lets out, irritated.

Isaac looks guilty. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “But cheer up, it’s the holidays soon.”

Stiles frowns. He can’t bear the thought of spending time with Derek where they’re expected to be happy. He won’t be able to deal with that and Isaac goes silent again, worried he’s said the wrong thing. Stiles forces a smile for his benefit.

“How’s the plumbing in your apartment going?” Stiles asks.

Isaac groans. “Not good.” He pauses. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, waving his hand. “You can thank Derek for that,” he says.

The shower is still running when Stiles reaches the bedroom. He quickly pulls his pyjamas on and climbs beneath the sheets. Stiles can feel the steam come into the room when the bathroom door opens, and Stiles closes his eyes, not needing to see Derek with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

He’s getting more sleep now that he shares the bed with Derek, even though it’s hard to turn off his brain with Derek lying next to him. Stiles goes to bed earlier and his mood has improved, but he still feels desperately alone. He still feels like he wants a life that can’t exist.

Derek clears his throat. Stiles twists on the bed, and looks up at him, glad that he’s dressed.

“What?” he says.

Derek scratches his cheek. “Well, it doesn’t really matter but I’d prefer it if I slept on that side of the bed,” he says.

Stiles blinks.

“That’s my side of the bed,” he finishes weakly, face turning red.

“Oh my God,” Stiles says, but he rolls over. He resists the urge to tease Derek, thinking it might hurt too much to talk so lightly. He hears Derek huff when he finally gets under the covers, and their legs bang. Stiles moves away, pretending it didn’t happen even as he wants to shuffle in closer.

Stiles has never had a significant other to share an apartment with, a bed with. He’s never had someone who cares about him like this who has promised to stay. Derek is a warm, heavy presence next to him and Stiles wishes he could enjoy it more.

\--

Stiles is wearing jeans that feel far too tight, and he’s styled his hair. He and Cora are waiting in the kitchen for Lydia to arrive, and Stiles stares at her, wondering what’s wrong.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she snaps.

Stiles holds up his hands. “You’re the one that’s acting weird.”

“Am not,” she insists.

He’s about to protest, but then there’s a knock on the apartment door. Stiles hasn’t seen Lydia for some time now, she’s been busy trying to keep Stiles’ condition under wraps as the second movie’s negotiations creep closer. She’s happy he’s finally read the books. Now she wants him to start writing.

Stiles doesn’t think he’s there yet.

“Fine,” Stiles says. Cora trails behind him as he goes to open the door.

“Hey,” Lydia says, “Sorry I’m late –” Her voice cuts off. Silence floods the room and it takes some time for Stiles to figure out why. He looks over his shoulder and then he sees that Cora and Lydia are staring at each other, one of them beginning to look rather mad and the other a little sheepish.

Cora has her hands behind her back. “Hey,” she says, voice softer than Stiles has ever heard it.

“Cora,” says Lydia, looking cold. “It’s nice to see you.”

Her words are a clear lie and Cora takes a step back. Stiles is completely unsure about what’s going on, and it’s hard not to feel the dread that comes with not knowing something. He clears his throat when the silence continues, rocking back and forth on his heels. The other two seem to realize that he’s still there.

“It’s nice to see you, too,” Cora says weakly, as Lydia drags Stiles out the door by his sleeve. “I was wondering if we could have a coffee some time,” she calls out, but the apartment door is already closing as Lydia declines.

They stand outside the door and Lydia puts her hands to her head, taking a deep breath.

“Lyds?” Stiles whispers.

She straightens. “Let’s just go.” Her smile is bright but forced, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do as she marches down the hallway and to the car. Everything is quiet and all Stiles can think of is the awkwardness in the air, the way the two looked at each other, and he turns back to the conversations he’s had with Cora about Lydia.

“Oh my God,” he blurts out, when they’re finally at this small restaurant in a secluded booth. Stiles stares at his friend. “Since when did,” he lowers his voice, “You, you know?”

Lydia’s mouth twists and she looks down at her menu. Stiles can’t stop looking at her, his mouth dropped open.

“What?” she says flatly.

“You know,” Stiles whispers, leaning forward. “Like girls?”

Lydia brushes her hair from her face, glancing up at him. She wriggles her shoulders uncomfortably, trying to hide the fondness in her voice. “I can’t believe I have to have this conversation with you for a second time.”

Stiles sits back, head swimming. He’s had this conversation before. He takes a sip of his water, trying to get used to the fact that this situation happens more often than he’d like.

Lydia sighs. “I haven’t seen her in a while; you could’ve warned me that she was staying with you.”

Stiles splutters, not even bothering to call Lydia out on why that’s just ridiculous. Stiles has no idea what happened and it seems surreal to him. He has to coax the details out of her, but Lydia is decidedly vague. She and Cora slept together, at some point. Cora didn’t want anything more.

“Maybe she’s changed her mind?” Stiles offers.

Lydia gives him a hard look. Stiles wonders if before he knew more than this rundown version of events. Then he could make sense of everything that’s happening, then he could figure out exactly what went down between Lydia and Derek’s sister.

 “But seriously?” he breathes out. “You and Cora?”

Lydia groans. “Stiles, we’re here to have a nice lunch and I cannot deal with you asking about this. Again.”

Stiles narrows his eyes at her. That’s unfair, and she knows it. The waiter comes and takes their orders, glancing at Stiles every so often, but Stiles is too mad to care that he’s actually famous.

They wait for their meal in silence, but then Lydia deflates.

“Sorry, I, sorry,” she says, sighing. “Ask whatever you want. I shouldn’t be so annoyed with you asking these questions, even if you’ve asked them way too many times before.”

“Right,” Stiles says, frowning. “So, uh, did I react the same way, before, when I found out about this?”

Lydia looks up at him. “Pretty much, yeah.”

“Huh,” Stiles says. He almost feels a bit lighter, knowing that. If this is the same then maybe other things are too, then maybe he’s not as different as he thought it was. But then again, he’s known Lydia for almost all his life. The way they interact isn’t likely to change.

When he turns his attention back to Lydia, she’s staring at him, incredulous. “Are you seriously judging whether or not you’ve changed based on this one conversation?”

Stiles scowls at her.

She looks over her shoulder, making sure no one’s listening before she leans forward and hisses in a low voice. “Stiles, you’re not that different, you’re just someone dealing with impossible circumstances.

“I’m not?” he whispers, feeling tired all of a sudden.

Lydia’s voice grows softer. “Look Stiles, I know it’s six years that’s gone but you’re the same, okay? You’re not a completely new person.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.”

“Yes, I know, Stiles, but –”

Stiles’ nostrils flare. “Lydia,” he says under his breath. “I got married! I became famous! That waiter over there looks like they’re going to shit their pants when they give us our meals. That has to be something that changes a person.” He watches Lydia sigh, watches the way she doesn’t want to argue about it anymore but Stiles keeps on going. “I achieved my dream and got my books published. My father got shot. Of course I’m different.

She reaches across the table, her skin soft when she clutches his hand. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I wish it was easier.”

Stiles has to look away, feeling the tears prickle in his eyes.

“Let’s just have a good time and forget about that,” Lydia says decisively. “No more talk about your accident and no more talk about Cora. Deal?”

Stiles looks at her, grateful that he has someone near that he knew from before. He nods.

“Good,” she smiles. “And I hope you know you’re finishing my meal if I can’t finish it myself.”

\--

They have a drink as well. Lydia and Stiles are well hidden, but when they leave the restaurant there are a few curious eyes. They get into their car without any sight of the photographers though, and Stiles is relieved.

He’s alone when he enters the apartment again. Isaac’s back from the bookstore and his feet are propped up on the coffee table. Cora is sitting next to him and her eyes dart up when Stiles opens the door.

“Stiles,” she says.

He rolls his eyes. “Are you going to tell me what happened between you two? Because Lydia sure as hell didn’t want to.”

Isaac looks between the two of them, startled.

Cora stands up. “Look, I just wanted to talk to her. She hasn’t been answering my calls or texts.”

“So,” Stiles hisses. “You didn’t have to take advantage of me knowing absolutely nothing to see her again.”

She sighs, collapsing on the couch. “I’m sorry.”

Isaac pats her shoulder, shrugging when Stiles looks at him for answers.

“Did she tell you we slept together?” Cora asks. Stiles nods. “Yeah, well, we did, but I left the next morning without saying anything. I don’t know – I panicked – I didn’t think I was ready for a relationship so I left. I just wanted to see her and say sorry.”

“Wow,” Isaac says. “You sound kind of pathetic right now.”

Cora hits him in the arm before leaning into his side, putting her head on his shoulder. Sometimes Stiles forgets that they’ve known each other for a long time.

Stiles scrunches his nose. “Well, Lydia acted like she really didn’t want to see you.”

Cora shrugs. “I should give up,” she says. “Sorry for not telling you, Stiles.”

“It’s fine,” he says grudgingly. Cora gives him a small smile and he heads to his bedroom.

On his pillow is a small, brown package, his name written on it. There’s a note next to it from Isaac, and these are the books he’s meant to give Derek as a gift. Stiles doesn’t open them, just stuffs it under the bed and hopes Derek doesn’t find it.

His own book is still on the bedside table and Stiles opens it again, dragging his finger along the page. He wishes he knew how to start writing the third book. Stiles remembers wanting to write all the time, wanting to get the story down on the page so that he could share it with people.

He stays lost in his thoughts for a few hours. He thinks back to his conversation with Lydia, about their talk about him being a different person. Stiles can’t understand how he’s not. The life he seems to be living now is too foreign, is too much like a dream.

He wants, more than ever, to see Scott and his father again. Those are the people that he knows. Right now he’s living with three others, who are practically strangers, and they’re getting better to be around but it’s not the same.

Stiles wants to be around those who are familiar to him. One outing with Lydia is not enough, and even then he gets surprised by things that feel so out of the blue he wants to scream.

\--

A week later, Isaac and Cora are still in the apartment, and Stiles wishes he had more space. He can’t go outside without careful planning, and because he shares the room with Derek, he can’t take refuge in it anymore.

Each night feels longer than the last. They all try talking to him, try coaxing out something that resembles conversation, but for the most part Stiles just sits there and doesn’t listen. It’s not on purpose this time, he doesn’t want to hurt Derek more than he has, but he can’t help it.

The holidays are soon. The books Isaac got for him are still under the bed.

Stiles packs his suitcase without really thinking about it. He throws in things that are sort of familiar, but he just wants to get out of there. He can hear Isaac and Cora laughing, he can hear Derek’s quiet chuckle.

He drags his suitcase out of his room, plane flights already booked and paid for. They stop talking, and all three of them give Stiles a strange look.

“What are doing?” Cora asks.

Stiles shrugs, rubbing his face. “Um, I thought, it’s Thanksgiving soon. Then Christmas.”

Derek pales, blinking at him in confusion. He sets down his drink.

“I thought I’d go home. I miss Scott and my father.”

“I – um, okay,” says Derek, “But are you sure you want to go now? I’m only filming for another couple of days before we have a break.”

Stiles looks down at his feet, feeling his insides twist up. He clears his throat, not trying to sound mean or hurtful. “I thought I might go now,” he repeats. “On my own. I’m sure your own family misses you.”

His own heart is thumping so hard in his chest it hurts. Isaac’s trying to look anywhere but at the two of them, and Cora’s lip is curling. Derek just stares, looking lost, until finally he says, in a voice so quiet Stiles barely hears him, “But you’re meant to spend the holidays with the people that you love.”

Stiles explodes. He’s been feeling it in him for days, he’s been feeling like Derek can’t love him, like it’s impossible to be the person he was before. Anger moves over his skin and he lets go of his suitcase, stepping forward. “You don’t love me, Derek! The person you love doesn’t exist anymore, okay? There’s no use in pretending otherwise,” he spits. “I’m not the same person.”

Derek’s body is so tense it looks like he might shatter. Then he’s striding forward, and they’re both forgetting that two other people are in the room.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking?” he says, voice hard. He’s only a foot away and Stiles has to lean back, breath caught in his chest.  Stiles goes to take a step back but he trips over the suitcase and Derek grabs his arm.

It doesn’t feel nice. Derek’s been careful not to touch him but right now he doesn’t let go, just stares at Stiles with an odd intensity in his eyes.

“You’re different,” he says, “You are – I’m not denying it. But you’re still _my_ Stiles, I don’t care what you have to say about it. You aren’t allowed to tell me I don’t love you. You’re the same person. I know about that time when you were in high school and that bully made you do his homework for him for months. I know that you were in love with Lydia for a long time and when I finally got you back I was worried those feelings were still there. I know about that time your father caught you with another guy in your bed but all he did was yell at you about safe sex and locking the door.”

Stiles shifts uncomfortably, feeling like all his secrets are on display for the world. Derek continues anyway, even though they have two people listening in.

“I know about the pillow you can’t sleep without, but lost when you were travelling. I know about how you couldn’t sleep at night for years when your mother died. I know about the time you got locked out of your dorm naked when you were first a student.”

Derek takes a deep breath, but it’s shaky, and he tries to settle himself.

“Derek –”

“You told me all these things,” Derek says over him, “And I loved you more for it. These are things you know, those memories are still there for you and _I love you_ , Stiles.”

Stiles’ throat feels tight. He throws Derek’s grip off him, not at all sure what to say. He feels close to panicking, like when the cameras chased after him, and he doesn’t know if he wanted to hear this or not. It sends his mind reeling.

“I really want you to see that,” Derek says finally, voice soft. They stare at each other. “I know there’s this weird imbalance because I know more about you than you do about me, but don’t think that your accident has made me love you less. It – it hasn’t.”

There’s a knock on the door. It’s Frank, who is going to take Stiles to the airport. Stiles doesn’t say anything, just looks at all three faces in the room. They seem shocked, like they’re finally, finally understanding what it’s like to be in Stiles’ position. Like they’re finally realizing what losing six years of memories does to you.

Stiles doesn’t say goodbye. He does glance over his shoulder as he leaves, dragging his suitcase with him. Derek looks torn, looks like he might fall over, breathing heavily. Stiles slams the door on the way out, dazed.

“You okay?” Frank asks him.

Stiles nods, more than once, but he can’t even convince himself. Derek’s words are echoing through his head and now he feels like he has to get out of there more than he did before.

He hears the sound of a sharp set of footsteps behind him, and Stiles turns around.

Cora stares at him, and then Isaac’s already there, trying to pull her back. “You once promised me that you wouldn’t hurt him,” she says.

“Cora,” Isaac pleads.

Stiles looks at the floor. He doesn’t answer her, and Isaac pulls her back into the apartment. He doesn’t want to hurt Derek, far from it, but he can’t help how he’s feeling. The drive to the airport is long. Derek’s words refuse to leave his head. Maybe, maybe Derek can love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Sorry about the wait.
> 
> I hope everyone is having a good week :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to bleep0bleep :) :) :)

The plane ride is long. Stiles tries to sleep but it’s impossible. All he can see is Derek’s face, the determined gleam in his eye, the way he tried to get Stiles to see – to see that he loves him. It’s an impossible thought but Stiles wants so desperately for it to be true, that maybe he starts to believe it a little.

Only a little, because before now he’s been convinced that Derek loves a version of Stiles that no longer exists. Stiles still isn’t sure who he is and he’s glad he’s going home, where maybe he won’t be so lost.

There are a few cameras at the airport. The flash probably catches his red eyes and pale skin, and Stiles’ lip trembles until he catches sight of his father. The rush of familiarity is warm, comforting, and his father grins as he pulls Stiles into a hug.

“Hey, kiddo,” he says. “Missed you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, trying to ignore the strangers looking at them. “Me too. Let’s go home.”

His father looks around. “Where’s Derek?”

Stiles closes his eyes for a second, trying not to lose it. He wants to cry but he can’t here, not where so many people can see him. The place isn’t crowded but he’s famous enough for eyes to wander, and he doesn’t want to have a breakdown in the middle of an airport.

“He’s not here,” Stiles mumbles.

His father looks surprised. “Well, when is he coming?”

“Dad,” Stiles snaps, gritting his teeth. “It’s just me, okay?”

His father looks like he wants to protest but he nods, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder and leading him out of the airport. He doesn’t ask any more questions even though he looks confused, and Stiles has to stop himself from feeling guilty. Derek had sounded so damn heartbroken when Stiles told him that he wanted to spend the holiday alone.

The drive home goes by quickly with his father next to him, passing places Stiles has actually seen before, and when they reach the house Stiles stumbles out of the car in a rush. He looks up at the sky and just _breathes_ , choking back a laugh. The air is different here, cleaner, and Stiles soaks it in. God, it feels so good to be back in Beacon Hills because there’s his house, the house he grew up in and it hasn’t changed a bit. He hasn’t felt this secure since he first woke up in the hospital.

Then, the front door opens and there’s Scott, a wide grin on his face. Stiles pushes back the fact that his friend seems older, instead focusing on how his bright eyes look the same as always, and Stiles feels giddy. He feels like he’s home.

“Stiles!” Scott calls out.

He laughs, and Stiles trips forward to hug his best friend. He clings to Scott for longer than he should, but he can’t help it. It feels good to have his family here.

Scott pulls back, clapping him on the shoulder. “I can’t wait for you to meet Kira!” he says, “You’ll love her, I promise. She’s great.”

Stiles looks down at his feet. For a second he feels cold, reality coming in fast. It’s been fucking six years, of course nothing’s the same, even if Stiles wants it to be. He takes a deep breath, then smiles and nods.

“No, yeah, dude. Can’t wait to see her either,” Stiles says, wishing he meant the words a bit more.

Scott beams. “Now, where’s Derek?”

Stiles falters, because there’s that question again. He opens his mouth to answer, throat dry, but then his father is behind them, suggesting that they move inside. Scott looks around, like Derek might suddenly appear, but it’s just the three of them.

He drags his bags up to his old bedroom. Stiles is bracing himself for a lot of changes, but he smiles faintly when he sees some of the faded posters from high school still on the wall. Stiles flops down on the bed and stares at the ceiling, trying to pretend that the past few months are just a nightmare that he’s now waking up from.

But then he remembers Derek, and maybe that’s not fair. They’re _married_ , for God’s sake, and even though the situation is shitty – Derek isn’t. Derek is a lot of things but he’s not a nightmare.

Stiles sighs, and slowly makes his way downstairs.

Scott hesitates when he sees him. “So, is Derek coming?”

“No.”

His father and Scott exchange a look.

“It would’ve been okay to bring him,” his father says carefully. “I don’t mind him staying with us. You know, I consider him family.”

“ _Dad_ , I know!” Stiles says, “I know that – I just had to get out of there, and I wanted to come home so much and see you both, and Derek – he’s fine, he’s fine, I just don’t want to be there anymore.” Stiles stares at them both, feeling exhausted. He knows he hasn’t explained himself very well but what is there to say?

No one gets it.

“We’ll talk about it later,” Scott says quickly. Stiles is ready to object, not wanting to talk about it at all, but then they’re ordering pizza and he’s finally got food in his stomach and he doesn’t feel so bad. His father doesn’t have to rush off to work like he remembers, and Scott stays with them until midnight.

Something loosens in his chest, and sometimes they say things that don’t make sense but most of the time Stiles knows exactly what they’re talking about. It’s a big change from being in New York with Derek, Cora and Isaac. He’s not surrounded by strangers here, and he can actually understand the concern in Scott and his father’s eyes.

Stiles knows why they care about him, because those memories are within his grasp.

\--

Kira is small and lovely and the first thing she does is give Stiles a hug. He’s unsure at first, because Derek is always careful not to touch him, but he pats her on the back as she says how much she missed him.

Scott seems to be holding his breath, like he wants Stiles’ approval of his wife.

“How long are you staying?” Kira asks.

Stiles shrugs. He honestly doesn’t know. A part of him wants to stay here forever, because he’s too scared to see Derek’s face again. He has to tell someone about the memories not coming back before it drives him insane, so he can figure out what the hell he’s supposed to do once everyone, including Derek, knows. Stiles wants to put it all off for as long as possible.

“I’ll be here for Christmas,” Stiles offers.

“Good, last year you were with Derek’s family and we missed you,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring him up or anything – I don’t really know how things are between you –”

“It’s fine,” Stiles rushes to say. Kira gives him a kind smile.

He watches her with Scott and they seem happy with each other. It seems more solid, more real than any of the relationships Scott had in college and high school, and Stiles is glad that his friend found someone to be with.

He wishes he had someone to be with. He wishes he had Derek, in a simpler, easier world.

A little while later, Kira follows him into the kitchen, her voice low. “Stiles, I don’t know if you’ve seen it or not, but it’s always nice to have some warning about the headlines – would you like me to tell you?”

Stiles hesitates, but he gives a shaky nod. He’s come to hate things taking him by surprise, so he lets Kira tell him what the world has to say about his life.

“You got off the plane here, and Derek’s with his family. They know you’re not together over the holiday,” she says, quietly. “They’re speculating about how maybe something’s wrong your marriage.”

Stiles laughs, rubbing his face. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Kira frowns. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shakes his head.

“No – let’s just, let’s just forget about it,” Stiles mutters, even though he’s had enough forgetting for a lifetime.

\--

Stiles thinks about letting Derek know that he made it to Beacon Hills in one piece. But he wants to talk to his husband almost as much as he _doesn’t_ , and Stiles wants to pretend that there isn’t another person he could be spending this holiday with. It’s not like he’s missing Derek, he’s not familiar enough with happy times for that.

His father finds him spread out on his bed, clutching his phone. Stiles doesn’t realize that there are hot tears down his face until he’s jolted from his thoughts by the sound of his name.

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?” he says miserably.

“I talked to Derek,” his father tells him. “I let him know that you’re here and that everything’s okay.”

“But nothing’s okay,” Stiles says, and he sniffs, using the back of his hand to wipe his face. His father tilts his head to the side, looking at him carefully. The tears keep coming, silently dropping down his cheeks, and Stiles didn’t come home to cry. He came home to get rid of the horrible, messed up things that he’s feeling.

It seems like he can’t run away from it, no matter where he is.

“Is it not what you’d thought it would be, living with him?” his father says, sitting at the edge of his bed.

Stiles shakes his head. “I – I don’t know,” he says. “It’s hard.”

His father takes a deep breath. “Do you want to divorce him?”

Stiles splutters, looking up. “What? No! No, I don’t want to _divorce_ him.”

“It’s always an option,” his father says, holding up his hands. “I’m just putting it out there.”

“No, I don’t want that.” His voice is firm and it’s the only thing he seems sure about. Stiles wants Derek so badly it hurts, but the memories aren’t coming back and Stiles is still playing what Derek said over and over again in his head, trying to make sense of it.

“Then why isn’t he here? Then why isn’t he spending the holiday with us?” his father asks, confused.

“Because…” Stiles says, voice trembling. Then he meets his father’s eyes and stares at him flatly, spitting out the words. “Because they’re not coming back. The memories aren’t coming back and there’s not going to be _any_ miracle, and Derek’s not going to want me when he realizes he won’t get his husband back.”

His father’s face falls. “Stiles.”

“The doctor said so. They’re not coming back,” he whispers. “I’m not coming back –” His father doesn’t let him finish talking before there are arms around him, holding him close, assuring him that he _is_ the same, that he’s still _Stiles_ and that Derek still loves him. He’s still loved by everyone around him.

It’s so hard to believe. Maybe he’s loved, and maybe he isn’t, but maybe it’s a _kind of_ sort of thing. He’s _kind of_ the same person, and Derek loves that little bit of him. Stiles doesn’t know if it’s enough but it’s got to be enough if Stiles decides if he wants this marriage, if he wants things to work out between them.

He finds all his fears spilling out of him, and his father listens. He doesn’t tell Stiles that what’s going on in his head is wrong. He doesn’t say that Stiles is stupid for thinking all these things even though sometimes Stiles thinks that himself. It’s draining, all so draining, but at the same time he feels lighter. He feels less and less like he’s alone.

“Stiles,” his father says.

“Yeah?”

“Derek’s going to be here for you, with or without the memories, Stiles, I’m sure of it. But you can stay here as long as you need,” he says. “You don’t have to decide right now what you want to do, but I want you to know that I consider Derek as a part of my family, and I want him to be happy as well.” His father sighs. “And I think, that you, as you are now, would make him happy, and that he could do the same thing for you.”

Stiles doesn’t reply. Instead he’s left alone, but not for very long. Scott is there in half an hour, sitting next to him on the bed. He misses his friend so much, because six years ago they were living together and now they’re not. It’s hard to get used to not having him around.

“I should visit you more,” Scott says seriously. “But I have a job, and it’s hard to get away.”

Stiles snorts. “I get it, dude. You’ve all got your lives.”

“We just want you to be happy,” Scott says.

“I know,” Stiles says.

They play video games and Scott stays the night, just like old times. It doesn’t feel like he’s hiding in the past, because Scott occasionally mentions his wife, his job, and Stiles thinks that things may get better.

\--

It’s been a few weeks since Stiles last spoke to Derek. He knows his father rings every couple of days, and Stiles doesn’t mind, not wanting Derek to be completely in the dark. But now he feels guilty, imagining Derek alone, and he’s convinced himself to call his husband.

It’s a couple of days before Christmas, and Stiles steps outside, phone in hand. His heart races as he dials the number and when the rings go on for too long, Stiles is afraid that he’s missed his chance.

But then the call connects and Stiles hears someone let out a breath, shaky in his ear.

“Derek?” Stiles asks, hesitating.

“Hi,” he says quietly. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it is. And I’m – I’m okay, too,” Stiles admits. “Are you with your family?”

“Yes,” Derek says.

Stiles feels heavy, listening to the silence between them. There’s not much to say but neither of them hang up. The wind whips at his skin outside and he shivers, wishing a little that Derek was standing right next to him.

“Sorry for not being in touch,” Derek finally says.

“No, it’s okay,” he says back, even though they both know that Stiles didn’t exactly want to hear from him.

There’s the sound of a loud crash in Stiles’ ear, and then a few yells. Derek groans and swears under his breath before saying that he needs to go.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Stiles says.

Derek takes a deep breath. “Love you,” he mumbles, and that stings. The phone cuts off and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself. It was hard not to hear the hopelessness in Derek’s voice, but then there’s his love, the thing that sent them into an argument the last time they saw each other.

Stiles stays outside for longer than he should, even though it’s cold. He doesn’t know what to do with Derek’s love but maybe it’s not his place to say that it doesn’t mean anything.

\--

The holidays pass without another word from Derek, and Stiles is relieved. It gives him some distance to think about whether or not he wants to go back, and Stiles does, but not just yet. It’s nice here, in Beacon Hills.

His father and Scott don’t look at him like they’re expecting someone else to turn up. Kira is easy to be around because he’s not trying to be a husband or even a friend at this point. He’s Scott’s buddy and that’s an easy person to be. He’s just Stiles, and he doesn’t feel like he needs to be anyone else.

“Scott told me that you’re worried about your father,” Kira tells him. “But we spend a lot of time with him, and he’s often with Scott’s Mom as well. The deputies from the station come and check in on him all the time, so he’s well looked after.”

Stiles smiles. “And he takes his pain meds and stuff?”

She nods.

“Were you here,” Stiles says, swallowing, “When he got shot?”

“Yes,” Kira says. “It wasn’t easy, but you deal with it, one day at a time.”

And that’s what Stiles is doing. Each day he gets up, he tries not to think of Derek and the books he didn’t end up giving him for Christmas, and he doesn’t let himself think about how his husband is alone.

He’s had to look after himself, first, rather than worry about Derek. Stiles needed the space he’s had in Beacon Hills, desperately, and he’s slowly let himself become more comfortable with the idea of going back.

Things are still different here. The house was the same, at a first glance, but some of the rooms have been painted and there are all sorts of items and trinkets that he hasn’t seen before. When he steps outside and heads into town, the locals no longer recognize him as the Sheriff’s son, but rather as that novelist who lives in a big city.

Stiles can’t get away from it, wherever he goes, and it’s a lot easier being in Beacon Hills, but he should go back.

He thinks he can manage going back.

\--

The apartment is quiet when he arrives, still. There’s no trace of Cora and Isaac, and Stiles thinks that maybe he’s alone. He stumbles inside and in the darkness the apartment looks stranger to him than when he first arrived, months ago.

He flicks on the bedroom light, blinking hard at the glare. There’s a bundled shape on the bed, dark hair peeking out from the blankets. Stiles licks his lips and leans against the door frame, hearing Derek’s breathing speed up as he tries to sit up.

“Stiles?” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” he says back, “It’s me.”

Derek looks at him, face scrunched up. “I didn’t know you were coming today, I can move,” he says drowsily. Stiles shakes his head, feeling guilty.

“No, you stay here,” he says. “It’s okay.” Stiles takes a step forward and puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder, urging him down onto the bed. Derek relaxes into his touch and closes his eyes, sighing a little.

Last time they were both here, they were sharing a bed, and now Derek’s only taking up half of it. Stiles stands there, unsure, for a very long time. But then he turns off the light and gets dressed, trying to make as little sound as possible. He climbs into the bed, next to Derek, even though the spare room is empty.

In the dark, Derek opens his eyes, surprised.

“What?” Stiles mutters, pulling the covers over his shoulders.

“You came home,” he says. Stiles looks down, suddenly uncomfortable.

“Um, yeah,” he mumbles. “I live here.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Derek admits sleepily, looking sad as he closes his eyes. He shuffles in closer, but they still don’t touch. “I didn’t think you would come back to me.”

All the little bits of guilt Stiles has felt over the break, hell, ever since he woke up in the hospital, seems to hit him all at once.

\--

Stiles wakes first, sitting on the edge of the bed with the packaged books in his lap. He holds in his breath as Derek stirs, but the sadness from last night seems to have faded as Derek smiles faintly at him.

“Morning,” Stiles stutters.

“Hi,” Derek says, wiping his eyes as he sits up. His cheek has the imprint of the pillow on it, but he looks gorgeous and disheveled, and Stiles thinks that maybe he should’ve come back sooner.

“Um, here,” Stiles says, shoving the books towards Derek. “Happy Christmas? Um, it wasn’t my idea, I mean it was, but like, it was me from before, so yeah.”

Derek throws him a look at that, but he doesn’t say anything.

Stiles clears his throat. “Isaac told me about it and I kept on doing it and here we are. It’s for you.”

“Thank you,” Derek says quietly, and he gingerly removes the dull, brown packaging. Stiles nibbles his lip, not even sure what’s inside. But then Derek’s lips part and he looks so overwhelmed, and there are tears in his eyes. Stiles freezes.

He’s sure he’s done something wrong, but then Derek looks directly at him, eyes in a smile even if his lips haven’t gotten that far yet. He looks touched.

“Stiles – I – thank you. They were Laura’s favorite novels,” he explains. “My favorite too, ever since she died.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Well, it’s not really from me –”

“It’s from both of you,” Derek says firmly. “I mean, you’re a little different but you’re the same person to me… but you can think about it however you want to.”

“Right,” he whispers back, watching Derek drag his fingers over the front cover of the books. He looks more relaxed than Stiles has ever seen him, and he feels his heart pound, wanting everything to work out.

“I don’t have anything for you,” Derek admits. “But my Mom made me come home with some of her baking for you, just in case you decided to come home before I ate it all.”

Stiles smiles, relieved that Derek’s mother doesn’t seem to hate him for leaving their son alone over the holiday. “Look, Derek – I haven’t been meaning to hurt you or anything, by not talking to you for so long, it’s just –”

“I know,” Derek replies, voice barely a whisper. “And I didn’t mean for you to feel suffocated, having so many people in the apartment. Cora was a bit too much of a handful, so I’m sorry about her, and I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could come to me with what you’re feeling.”

Stiles shrugs. Derek takes a deep breath and looks down at the first edition books again, smiling slightly. There’s a light there, hope, and Stiles is sort of hit with the fact that Derek’s half in love with him already.

Neither of them are all the way there yet, but they could be. Derek could actually, properly be his husband again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! RL has been busy and I've also been trying to work on my Sterek Big Bang fic!! So you guys have that to look forward to :)
> 
> Here things are looking better, more hopeful for the two of them :) Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter, and thank you for sticking around :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again thank you very much to the lovely bleep0bleep <3

The truth is on the tip of his tongue, all of the time. Stiles stares at his husband frequently, opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out how to tell him that the memories aren’t coming back. Stiles has to tell him, and he’s promised himself that he’s going to do it soon.

It’s hard. He can’t think about anything else, and Derek’s concerned looks aren’t helping. It’s almost like he’s waiting for Stiles to disappear _again_ , but Stiles isn’t going anywhere. He wants this.

At night Stiles stares at Derek’s back, wanting to move closer and feel his warmth more solidly. He listens to Derek’s soft breaths in the dark and he thinks, maybe, that Derek will stay. His father and Scott assured him Derek would stay, that he wouldn’t mind having to start again with Stiles.

There’s still doubt, ever present, that Derek won’t want him anymore, not without the chance of having the old Stiles back.

But the mornings are always littered with nervous smiles, and Stiles waits eagerly for Derek to come home. The apartment is quiet now when Derek’s gone, and Stiles spends the time in front of his laptop, urging himself to look at his notes.

He’s promised more than one person to try and figure out his novels again. Stiles sometimes searches online, tries to find fan reviews because of the unchecked excitement in their words, but he still feels dread. He feels like it might be impossible to write again, because so much has changed from what he remembers.

Lydia does not seem happy to see him. She arrives at the apartment as soon as she hears Stiles is back, her face sharp and her lips in a frown.

“Seriously, Stiles?”

“What?” he says, taking a step back. It’s just the two of them, and Stiles sort of wishes Derek was here, giving him a calm, amused look.

“Look, I know you needed space over the break. I get that, believe me, I do, but I barely heard from you!” she says.

Stiles looks down, biting his lip. His approach over the holidays was to push everything away – thoughts of Derek, his novels, the second movie – instead of holding onto some things and not others. But he needed that space, even if he didn’t talk to Lydia as much as he should have.

“Sorry,” he finally says, and he meets Lydia’s gaze. The frustration leaves her expression.

“I’ve been trying to get the second movie on track, Stiles, but it’s difficult when you’re so elusive,” Lydia tells him. “Tell me now, do you want this movie or not? I can’t go forward without you and Derek on board.”

Stiles swallows over the thick, sore lump in his throat. He thinks he wants to get back to his life, to the real world where he worked hard for his books to become _something_. People read them and love them, Derek reads them and loves them, and Stiles shouldn’t want to give up on them.

“I’d have to tell…all those people, right?” Stiles says. “The people involved. About my head.”

Lydia sits down. “Yes.”

“Maybe I should ask Derek what he thinks,” he says.

Lydia sits a little straighter. Immediately she looks less concerned about the movie, and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, treading carefully. “You want to know Derek’s opinion?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at her. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

She smiles. “So, you two are getting along better now?”

“I think so,” Stiles whispers, but he scratches his head and takes a seat next to Lydia, thinking about all he still needs to say. He wonders if this little burst of tranquillity is going to last. Right now, he looks forward to sharing a meal with Derek. He looks forward to asking about his day at work, about the makeup and the stunts and the special effects.

Derek stays clear of the past, though. When Stiles is reminded of all that he doesn’t have any more it still hurts in a dull, constant ache. So they talk more about the present, a little about the immediate future, and Stiles sometimes only half pays attention, wondering if he should bring up the memories now before it is too late.

“And you’re not fighting or anything?”

Stiles sighs. “Lydia, I came back. I came back because I want to try with him, and it’s still not easy, okay? It’s still not, and half the time I have no idea what I’m doing, no idea how to make it all better again.”

He’s met with her soft smile, and she reaches out and squeezes his arm. “You’ll get there. He loves you.”

Stiles nods.

“I have to go,” she says, “And you need to read your notes. I’m not asking you to write anything, just to read about what you’ve planned, okay? If we’re going to do this movie, you have to be able to warn for everything they can’t do, for the movies to still make sense when the third book comes out.”

“If it comes out,” Stiles mutters.

She ignores him. “Thank God you already gave the go ahead on the current script.”

“That makes my life a little easier then,” Stiles says, worried that it’s all going too fast for him to catch up. He can’t let his life happen without him again.

“Exactly,” Lydia tells him. “I don’t want things to be too hard for you, Stiles.”

Stiles sighs, knowing that there’s only going to be bumps in the road ahead.

\--

Stiles sits in the apartment, running his thumb on the underside of his wedding ring. The metal is smooth, warm, and he’s glad he never took it off. Maybe every time Derek gets a glimpse of it he sees that Stiles hasn’t given up on them.

He’s clinging onto the idea of them, with his books and the new movie making him feel more and more out of his depth. Stiles had a meeting the day before, just to meet the people he’s been working with for the past few years.

His editor tried to smile at him, but Stiles had no recollection of her face, just like he had no recollection of the work they’d done together. The director of the second movie cracked a joke that Stiles didn’t understand. It had felt like he was letting down too many people, even if they’re happy to see him again, happy that he’s alive and healthy and conscious.

And that was just one meeting so that Stiles could know their names and faces. They didn’t even talk business yet, and Stiles still isn’t one hundred percent convinced that he should do this. He wished Derek were there to help smooth things over, but then maybe these strangers would realize how they’re not the couple they once were.

 He’s thankful when his phone rings, and Stiles stumbles over to it.

“Stiles?”

“Hey,” he clears his throat. “Hey, Derek.”

There’s a pause. “You alright?”

“Uh huh.”

“Still worried about the movie?”

“How could I not be?” Stiles sighs, collapsing onto the couch again. He covers his face with his free arm, listening to Derek’s quiet chuckle in his ear.

“We can talk about it more when I get home. If you’d like,” he adds quickly, because they’re still not at the point where they can talk about serious things without it being awkward, without thinking about how this all would’ve been so much easier before Stiles’ accident.

“Sure,” he says quietly.

“And you know I’ll do whatever you want me to,” Derek says firmly. “I know if this movie doesn’t happen that money will be lost and the fans will be disappointed, but we don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do it. It doesn’t matter what Lydia says.”

Stiles doesn’t reply, just pulls at the loose thread on his shirt. Derek’s kind of right, but Stiles wishes he didn’t have to make a decision about it. He wants somebody to choose for him. He wants the choice to be easy.

Derek clears his throat. “Um, I’ve asked Frank to come by the apartment and pick up some papers for me. I left them on the desk in the office. Do you think you could give them to him for me?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, slowly getting to his feet. “Sure.’

Derek thanks him and hesitates before hanging up, like he wants to offer more advice or to say something else. Stiles wants to tell him to spit it out because the few moments of silence before Derek says goodbye are awkward, and it’s an awkwardness that probably didn’t use to exist.

“See you when I get home,” Derek finally says.

Stiles finds the papers easily, and he holds them in his lap as he sits down at the desk. This is probably where he did most of his writing. He wonders if he could ever write more.

A knock at the front of the door breaks him from his thoughts. He gets up, the chair squeaking, and Frank smiles at him when he opens the door.

“Stiles,” he says. “How are you?”

“Ugh, you know,” he says.

Frank raises an eyebrow.

“Just one of those days,” Stiles says, unsure.

“I see.”

Stiles looks up at Frank, clutching the papers tight in his hand. He’s not sure what the papers are for, but maybe Derek wants to show his work friends something. Maybe, maybe Stiles could go with Frank? He could see Derek at work and it might be nice. He might be able to get out of the apartment for once.

“Can I come with you?” he blurts out.

Frank beams. “Sure.”

“Do you think Derek will mind?”

“Not at all,” Frank assures.

The car ride over seems long and short at the same time. Stiles’ heart flutters in his chest and he feels lightheaded. He’s not sure what he’s getting himself into, because there will be people there. There will be people there who know his name but don’t know his memories are gone.

What if they try and talk to him? What if he’s supposed to know who they are?

“I’ll make sure you’re okay,” Frank tells him, eyes glancing up to the rear view mirror.

Stiles swallows. “Okay. Thanks.”

He almost asks Frank to turn around when they get to the movie set, but there are only a few cars and a bunch of trailers. It’s sort of underwhelming and Stiles relaxes somewhat.

The first people they see don’t pay any attention to him and the breeze travels nicely over Stiles’ skin. Frank is a solid presence beside him, knowing where to go, but then someone calls out his name and Stiles does his best not to panic.

He turns and there’s a young woman, blonde hair in curls. She’s utterly gorgeous and she races forward, nostrils flaring.

“It’s okay,” Frank says. “That’s Erica. She is Derek’s makeup artist.”

Stiles remembers Derek mentioning her briefly, but otherwise there’s nothing. Nothing at all. She definitely seems to know him, and she stops just short of him, hands by her sides. Her eyeliner is sharp and her top is low cut.

“Ugh, you’re okay – I can’t believe Derek wouldn’t let me see you,” she grumbles. “Come here, Stilinski.”

Stiles takes a step backwards and Frank angles his body between them. Erica rolls her eyes.

“Hi…Erica,” Stiles says awkwardly, cursing himself for turning up, cursing himself for thinking that this was a good idea.

She frowns. “I know about your head. Derek told me.”

Stiles gives this stranger a sharp look. “I think the whole world knows I was in a coma for three months,” he points out. “So what you know is nothing special.”

Erica pouts, trying to hide the way her eyes go sad. Stiles doesn’t know her. He almost wishes he did. “ _Stiles_ , for God’s sake, I know.”

He looks down at the ground, fingers curling towards his palms. For a second he’s angry at Derek for not letting him know who knows, but then Erica gently punches him on the arm.

“Hey, don’t worry, Stilinski,” she says. “I won’t bite unless you ask me to.”

“That really doesn’t sound promising.”

“Let me take you to Derek. I’ll make sure no one else gets in your way,” Erica tells him. “And I promise not to bring up how stupid you and Derek are being, because that’s totally none of my business.”

She’s grinning now, and Stiles just knows she’s going to pounce as soon as she can. He doesn’t know how close Derek and her are for her to _know_ , but she seems happy to see him and Stiles has disappointed enough people so he could do without disappointing her too.

“Fine, lead me the way,” he says. Next to him, Frank nods, like this isn’t completely a bad idea.

Erica beams and grabs his hand, dragging him towards one of the buildings. Stiles throws a panicked look over his shoulder to Frank, but he just looks amused at Erica’s enthusiasm and follows behind.

“We only have like two more days of filming,” Erica tells him. She smirks. “You’ll have Derek all to yourself again.”

“Right,” he says.

“He’s just through here,” she says, leading him through some plain corridors. They pass what looks like a prop room, a costume room, and then they’re in a room surrounded by mirrors and makeup. Derek’s sitting in one of the seats, looking irritated, but then he glances up and sees Frank and Stiles.

Derek freezes. “Hey – hey.

Stiles bites his lip. He holds out the papers. “Here’s your stuff.”

Derek stands and reaches for them, smiling slightly. His eyes dart around like he’s looking for people who might overhear them, but there’s no one there. “Thanks,” he says. “You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”

“I can leave,” Stiles says, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants.

Derek shakes his head quickly.

Erica stares between the two of them, shoulders slumping. “Man, I can feel the love,” she says flatly.

Derek glares at her. “Erica.”

She throws up her hands. “Fine. I ran into Stiles on the way to tell you that you’re wanted on set.” Erica turns to Stiles, shuffling forward like she wants to hug him. Stiles grits his teeth together, still not sure, but she throws her arms around his shoulders briefly while he just stands there. It’s awkward, but when it’s over Erica looks a little happier.

“See you around?” she asks hopefully.

“Um.”

“I’ll get Derek to invite me over sometime,” Erica says.

“You mean invite yourself over,” Derek says, but he’s smiling. He waves her off and Stiles is glad that he didn’t have to answer. Sometime soon he should think about making friends again, maybe seeing Erica again. Hopefully it will be easier than getting to know your own husband.

When she’s gone, Stiles turns to Derek.

“You told her,” he says.

Derek looks at him. “Yes. She’s my friend.”

“You could’ve told me that she knows,” Stiles says.

Derek lets out a sigh, rubbing his face. He stares at Stiles for a few seconds, trying to figure out the hurt in Stiles’ voice. “I didn’t know you were coming today,” he points out carefully. “Or I would’ve warned you.”

“Well, is there anyone else you’ve told?” Stiles says, a bit too quick and a bit too harsh.

“Her and my family,” he says. His eyes look sad and Stiles deflates. He tries to understand that Derek has to talk about this to someone, that he has to share what he’s feeling if he wants to. Stiles remembers the look on his husband’s face when he came home from Beacon Hills, face pained and surprised that Stiles was even there.

Derek takes a step back, still holding the papers. “Come on,” he says. “I want to introduce you to the people I’m working with.”

“Have I met them before?” Stiles asks, voice quiet.

“I don’t think so,” Derek says. He turns to Frank. “Thanks for coming.”

Frank smiles. “No problem. I’ll be right behind you.”

Stiles nods, turning back to Derek. His heart jumps when he sees Derek’s outstretched hand, fingers hovering in the air. Stiles stares at it, unsure, but he wants to know what it would be like to have their fingers tangled together.

Derek smiles when Stiles takes his hand, saying nothing. His skin feels a little rough but very warm, and Stiles catches his breath when Derek rubs a thumb over his knuckles. The touch feels strange and Stiles isn’t used to it, but he likes it. He likes the way they’re walking so close together that their shoulders brush. He likes Derek’s firm grip.

It’s like they’re a real couple, and when they approach a bunch of people Stiles’ stomach drops. That’s all they are, _pretending_ , pretending for people he’s never met before, so that none of them suspects there’s something wrong with their marriage.

But then he barely has time to think about it, as Derek calls them over. The people seem happy to see him, and thankfully there’s only three or four of them. Derek does most of the talking, saving Stiles from it.

The minutes press on and Derek stands nearer to him, placing a hand on the small of his back, pulling him close almost absentmindedly. All theses strangers smile at them, and Stiles knows their act is working. Knowing that it’s an act, that this isn’t quite real yet, it doesn’t stop Stiles from leaning closer into Derek’s side.

“Hale, do you have the papers yet?” comes a voice.

“Yeah, are you ready for me?” Derek says.

“Yes,” the man waves a hand and the couple of people around them quickly disperse.

“This is Stiles,” Derek says quickly.

The man stops for a second, but then he grins widely. “Sorry to steal your husband so soon after your accident, Stiles,” he says, clapping Stiles on the shoulder. “But I’ll let you have him back soon. We could all tell that he wanted to be home.”

Derek grimaces.

“Come on Derek, we have a bit more work to do,” he says. The man’s clearly busy and he leaves without saying any sort of goodbye. Stiles raises his eyebrows.

“Was that the -?”

“Director,” Derek says. He sighs. “I should go. See you at home?”

Stiles nods. Derek’s hand cups Stiles’ elbow for a second, squeezing slightly. Then he disappears and Frank is by his side once more. Stiles misses Derek’s heat already, and the air feels cold.

“Let’s go home,” he says.

\--

Derek looks tired when he comes home, dumping his bag at the door before he finds Stiles in the kitchen. They stare at each other a moment, and it’s weird after seeing each other during the day. Stiles remembers Derek’s arm around his waist and how much he wanted it to stay there.

They could be something. Stiles can feel it, and maybe now he’s brave enough to tell Derek that the memories aren’t coming back. Derek’s going to be finishing filming soon. It might be a chance for a fresh start.

“I was surprised to see you today,” Derek says, fiddling at them hem of his shirt.

Stiles hops up onto the bench, feet dangling in the air. Derek sighs but says nothing, keeping his distance.

“I was thinking –”

“Derek –”

Derek swallows, gesturing for Stiles to go first. Stiles nibbles on his lip. He has no idea where to start, what to say. He thinks that maybe Derek should sit down. What if he takes it badly? What if he’s really not expecting it? Stiles lets out a breath.

“Um,” he says, deciding to start somewhere else. “What did the guy mean when he said they could all tell you wanted to be home?”

Derek presses his lips together, eyes on the floor. Then he says nothing and Stiles isn’t sure what to think. Derek immediately looks more exhausted, like the months that have passed have been way too draining.

“You didn’t want to be there?” Stiles says slowly.

“No, not really,” Derek admits. “I wanted to be here, with you. They all knew it, too.”

“Were you difficult to work with or something?”

Derek shrugs, looking defeated and almost disappointed with himself. “I could’ve been better, more enthusiastic. Especially towards Erica.” He scratches his cheek. “But it’s not like I sacrificed the quality of my performance.”

“Right.”

“I think maybe they regret hiring me so soon after your accident, even if it had been three months,” Derek finally says. He’s still not looking Stiles in the eye. His eyes are sad and Stiles knows that this isn’t normal for Derek. Any other time Derek’s probably as professional as you can get. He’s so careful with Stiles. So careful not to touch him at home where it might mean something, where it might make Stiles uncomfortable. He’s probably just as careful with the rest of his life.

But then Derek shakes it off, trying to smile. “I’ve worked with him before, though,” Derek says. “We got on then. I think maybe he’s a little frustrated with me now, and I don’t blame him. I’m glad filming is wrapping up.”

“You two will be okay?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah,” Derek says. He takes a step closer, letting his gaze settle on Stiles’ face. “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, though.”

Stiles’ breath hitches. Derek’s voice is low, a little nervous. Stiles is suddenly aware of how small the kitchen feels, of how little air there is in the room.

“I – we should try together properly again,” Derek says, eyes so wide and serious and beautiful and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself. “Instead of just living together and trying not to get in each other’s way. We should try properly, go on a date –”

“Derek,” Stiles interrupts, voice hoarse. He doesn’t sound hopeful, more unsure and unsettled. Stiles’ eyes dart around until he can bring himself to focus them on Derek’s face. “Wait.”

Derek’s lip quivers, trying to hold in his disappointment. He moves to turn away, but Stiles grabs his wrist. His throat feels like it’s closing up but he has to say this, he has to.

“Are you sure you’re not just waiting for the day my memories come back, Derek? That you’re waiting for some person that’s never going to come along?”

Derek’s mouth opens and closes. “Stiles – I told you, I don’t, you’re it for me.”

Stiles’ nostrils flare. He’s suddenly angry at himself. He’s angry at Derek. He’s angry that he woke up with nothing. “No, you don’t understand,” he hisses. “You don’t. They’re not coming back. I went to the doctor and he said that they’re not. They’re just not.”

Derek can’t hide the flash of disappointment over his features, the heavy realization that they won’t be together like how they were before. Stiles spots it instantly and he feels miserable, feels like nothing is going to go his way.

“See!” he says. “See! You don’t want me, you want me from before.”

His voice is broken. His fingers are digging into Derek’s skin, where his hand is still around his wrist. Stiles feels his body start to shake and he wants to leave but he physically can’t move. It’s too hard.

Derek snaps out if it. He straightens, eyes going sharp but all Stiles feels is his skin too hot and an uncomfortable dread through his body. “Wait, Stiles, _wait._ You’ve got to give me more than a second to process it, _please_.”

Stiles closes his eyes, mouth open and breathing in deeply. He slowly relaxes his grip on Derek but Derek doesn’t let him go, taking Stiles’ hand between two of his own. When Stiles thinks he can manage it, he opens his eyes and stares at Derek with a hopeless expression on his face.

Even though Derek has claimed that he loves him, that he still cares for him, it doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t rather have the Stiles he actually married. Stiles can’t blame him. He wants the memories back too, he wants things easier too. He wants to remember each person he ever met, including his husband.

But they can’t wait around for that anymore.

“Please,” Derek says again. “I was thinking about what people do at the beginning of a relationship. They go on dates and get to know each other and I think we should do that. You don’t know me and I want you to. God, I want you to.”

Stiles blinks, a little surprised. He’s still feeling a bit shaky, but Derek squeezes his hand.

“I’d – you’d get to know me again, too?”

Derek nods.

Stiles looks up at him, imagining it all. He imagines starting again with Derek, going back to the beginning so that they can figure everything else out along the way. There’s wonder in his eyes, he knows, and Derek’s smiling softly again.

“Do you want to?” he says quietly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Stiles nods, one sharp, jagged movement, and Derek closes his eyes as he sighs in relief. A small smile rests on his face, teeth peeking out between his pink lips, and then he’s leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

Stiles feels Derek’s hot breath over his skin and he holds back a shiver as Derek lingers, as he feels the slightest scrape of his stubble when he pulls away. It’s sweet and gentle, and it holds far more affection than Stiles is used to but it also feels like it’s Derek kissing _him_.

It’s Derek being grateful towards the Stiles in front of him, not the one he married and that only the ghost of exists now. It feels like Derek is talking to him. Stiles likes it. He really does.

“You’re staying?” Stiles whispers. “Even though I won’t get the memories back?”

Derek seems exasperated, but he nods. “I – of course, Stiles. Of course I’m staying. Are you?”

Stiles chances a smile at him, feeling flushed. Derek drags his fingers across Stiles’ hand as he leaves, giving him some space so he can process it all. He feels dizzy and happy and hopeful. He can still feel Derek’s kiss on his cheek and Stiles wishes that it didn’t take so long to get here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Hope you all enjoy :) :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots of thanks to bleep0bleep :)

Stiles feels like everything is hanging on this one date, on this one evening. He’s filled with hope and worry, and his doubts that this will work are sometimes overwhelming.

A first date has never meant so much.

But then again, Derek stayed. Derek learnt about how Stiles will never get his memories back and he’s still here, still sleeping in the same bed as Stiles, still living in the same apartment. As their date comes closer the excited, nervous tension in the air grows, but it’s nice because neither of them have had something to look forward to in a while.

They plan to go out the night after Derek finishes work on his movie. In different rooms they both get dressed into something nice, date clothes, and it’s odd because first dates don’t normally happen after you already share an apartment, after you’re already married.

Stiles stares at the bathroom mirror, trying not to freak out. He can hear Derek getting ready and it does nothing to calm his nerves. He looks at the leather jacket he found, slightly too big as it covers the red shirt he’s wearing. Stiles’ hair has some product in it and he thinks his dark jeans might be a little too tight.

Hopefully Derek likes what he sees. Stiles isn’t sure what about himself Derek finds attractive, but he’s got to at least put a little effort into his appearance. Tonight isn’t necessarily going to be easy, but he wants this. He wants this badly and he has reason to believe Derek does too.

There’s a knock on the bathroom door. “Stiles? Are you ready? Frank’s here.”

“Yeah – yeah,” he calls out, throat dry.

Stiles emerges a moment later, trying not to think of how everything might go wrong. He stuffs his hands in his pockets when Derek lets out a breath, clearly relieved that this is still happening, that neither of them have changed their minds.

Derek looks good. He stands there in a white shirt underneath a grey jacket, and Stiles eagerly takes him in, eyes lingering at the chest hair near Derek’s throat. Derek licks his lips and Stiles squirms, unsure what to say. He wonders if it was this awkward in the very beginning, if they hardly knew what to say to each other before.

“I like your jacket,” Derek says.

“Yeah, um,” Stiles looks down. “I found it in the closet and I liked it so...”

“I gave it to you,” Derek tells him.

Stiles meets Derek’s gaze, tugging on the leather sleeves. He’s surprised that this gift still aligns with his tastes, that Derek probably knows him better than Stiles thinks he does.

“Ready to go?”

Stiles nods, rocking back on his heels.

“There might be people who take photographs of us,” Derek warns him.

Stiles sighs.

“We can stay in.”

It’s not really an option, but Derek says it anyway and Stiles is grateful. But he’s got to get out of this stupid apartment; he can’t stay here forever and he wants to take this step forward.

“Sounds like you’re trying to change my mind,” Stiles says lightly.

“Definitely not,” Derek breathes, eyes dark as they rest on Stiles’ face. Stiles tries not to shiver and he feels Derek’s hand on the small of his back as they leave the apartment. Then they’re in the car, on the way to the restaurant, and now that this is actually happening Stiles feels more and more relaxed.

“Have fun, boys,” Frank says, turning around from the driver’s seat. He gives Stiles a reassuring smile. “Derek will look after you if you need him to.”

They climb out of the car and there are already a couple of photographers about. Stiles glances at them, trying not to panic when he feels Derek’s hand slip into his own. His touch is warm, grounding, and they walk briskly towards the restaurant doors.

Inside, the noise of the cameras is gone and Stiles relaxes. Derek immediately greets the person who sits them, kissing her on the cheek and greeting her by name. She smiles at them both before leading them to a private room at the back of the restaurant, a frosted glass door blocking them from the rest of the customers.

“It’s nice to see you both again,” their server says, and Stiles tries not to frown as she leaves. He takes his seat opposite Derek and he bites his lip hard, worry settling in now that it’s clear that they’ve both been here before.

He wants to go on a date with Derek, but he doesn’t really want it like this.

Derek barely looks at the menu, and less than five minutes later the hostess comes in with two glasses of wine, one red and one white, even though they haven’t ordered anything yet.

“You’ve been here before?” Stiles says, voice flat.

Derek’s eyes dart up to him before they go wide. “Yes?” he says.

“Oh.”

He leans forward on the table and looks up at Stiles. “Is that okay?”

Stiles puts down his menu. “It’s just, Derek, I thought we were starting again. Like, not reliving everything but doing new things, together, that neither of us have done.”

Derek flushes a bright red. “Sorry – I didn’t think. I wasn’t trying to do that, I was just really nervous because this is the last thing I want to fuck up and I know what it’s like here. I don’t have to fuss about getting a private booth, and Frank gets a couple of hours off, and I know everyone and it’s comfortable for me. I know what to expect, and they don’t gawk at us here or ask for autographs. We can leave if you like.”

Stiles looks at him carefully.

“And,” Derek says, after a pause. “We did come here a bit, but I came here before I met you all the time. With Laura.”

Stiles’ eyebrows rise. Derek sparingly mentions his sister. “Oh. Right. We can stay. If you’d like.”

Derek relaxes slightly.

“But next time can we go somewhere new? I know it will be more trouble for Frank but I kinda want to do what we said. Start again.”

Derek nods, running a hand through his hair. He looks less calm now, less like he knows what he’s doing even though they’ve both been to this restaurant before. It’s sort of nice to know that Stiles isn’t the only one.

“Well,” says Stiles, trying to move away from the heaviness in the air. “Why don’t you order for me since you seem to know the menu?”

Derek stares at him like it’s a trick question, one eyebrow raised. It takes a while for him to respond and Stiles starts to worry he’s said something wrong but Derek then nods.

“I think you might like the steak,” he finally says.

“Okay, I’ll try that.”

“You haven’t, um, you don’t,” Derek’s cheeks go pink again and Stiles stares at him expectantly. Derek clears his throat. “In the past you haven’t ever liked me ordering for you.”

Stiles shrugs. “Things change, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Derek says. “But it’s not all bad, right?”

Stiles shakes his head and Derek’s eyes almost shine. Stiles stills when Derek slides his foot across the floor and their calves align. God, it’s an actual date; with wine and nervous smiles that are now bordering on flirty – and once their food comes the talking gets easier too.

Derek tells him a little more about the city, tentatively at first, and then about his family. Stiles is sure that Derek must be getting frustrated, because these are things Stiles must have been told before but Derek betrays nothing.

“My parents really want you to meet them,” Derek says.

“Even after what happened over Christmas?”

“Yes,” Derek says softly. “Of course. Cora wants to see you again, too.”

Stiles snorts, shifting on his seat. “I don’t think she likes me very much.”

“She – she loves you Stiles, even if she was a little harsh while she was here.”

Stiles blinks at his food. “I don’t know, Derek.” He still feels guilty for making Derek feel sad, for making him lose hope for even a moment. He chances a weak smile. “I’m sorry.”

Derek leans forward, and he takes Stiles’ hand again, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “I’m sorry too, you know. That I didn’t know how to make things easier for you.”

He feels a little warmer, after that. Like they’re both on the same side, like they’re both working together, towards the same thing.

“How’s the food?” Derek says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You know it’s good,” he says, dragging his finger through the sauce on his plate and licking it off. “How many times have I had it before?”

Derek smirks. “A lot. You don’t really get anything else from here.”

“And I still get pissed when you order for me?”

“Yes,” Derek says dryly, “You say there’s always the possibility you might change your mind.”

“Well, I agree with myself, actually.”

Derek looks like he wants to laugh, eyes going bright again, but he just ducks his head and turns back to his food. Stiles is surprised by himself, by the fact that he’s even talking about what he was like before. That person still seems miles away, but maybe they’re similar enough. Right now Stiles doesn’t know.

When they finish their meals the waitress comes and talks to them again. Stiles just smiles, cheeks flushed from the wine, aware that his memories are gone and that if he’s not careful he might say the wrong thing.

It’s okay though, because she seems more interested in talking to Derek and Stiles realizes that this is Derek’s space. This is Derek’s space, and by inviting Stiles here he’s learning about a little part of Derek’s life, the places he goes, and what he likes.

The cameras are still outside when they leave the restaurant, the bright lights and the shouting still difficult to comprehend. Stiles reaches for Derek’s hand this time, stands close to his body before they climb into the car.

The car door closes and Stiles lets out a breath. “Are they seriously there every time?”

Derek shrugs, squeezing Stiles’ fingers before he reaches for his seatbelt. Stiles wants his touch to stay. “Mostly.”

“Did you two have a good time?” Frank asks.

Stiles tries not to be aware of Derek’s waiting gaze; his curious, hopeful look.

“Yeah, we did,” Stiles tells him. It’s nice to say after working himself up for days. He sinks back into his seat. He’s sure that tomorrow there will be articles online talking about how Stiles finally left the apartment again, that Derek and Stiles finally did something that showed their marriage wasn’t completely falling apart.

There’s that, but Stiles feels like this night was just for them. Not for the hundreds of other people who might want a glimpse of their life.

“Anywhere else?” Frank asks, sounding amused. “Or home?”

“Home,” Stiles agrees.

\--

There’s a tingling in Stiles’ fingers as they walk the final steps to their apartment. Derek is right behind him, the swish of his jacket easy to hear. His heart thumps in his chest, and Stiles isn’t sure why his skin feels so hot.

“This is so weird,” he says in a rush. “Like, people don’t go home together after a first date, not unless –” Stiles cuts himself off. “It’s just weird.”

“I guess so,” Derek admits. “But our lives haven’t exactly been normal. Not since I was a kid, and definitely not since you woke up in the hospital.”

It’s dark inside their apartment. Stiles shuffles inside, trying not to get caught staring at the curve of Derek’s jaw. The door closes and Stiles leans against it, palms flat against the wood. Derek turns to face him, and his lips are parted, eyes dropping as they stare down at Stiles’.

He knows his fingers are trembling against the door, and Stiles can’t quite tell if he really wants this, wants Derek to kiss him. He wonders if Derek’s going to come closer, wonders how it would _feel_ , and Stiles knows he wouldn’t stop Derek if he tried. He really wouldn’t.

Stiles’ breath hitches when Derek leans forward, one hand reaching up. Stiles doesn’t move. He can’t. He keeps his eyes on Derek’s, not letting himself look a little further down, but the moment is broken when the light suddenly flicks on.

Stiles has to blink, thrown by the lack of darkness in the room.

Derek takes a step back, grinning slightly. He turns and walks through their apartment, shrugging off his jacket. Stiles stares after him, mouth dry, scowling when Derek throws a smirk over his shoulder.

“Want to watch a movie?” Derek calls out.

“Um, sure,” Stiles says weakly, disappointment clouding his mind. He trips towards their couch, barely registering it when Derek puts in the movie. Derek throws a blanket at him, the same one Derek used when he slept alone on the couch before.

There’s a neat strip of space between them, and it sort of feels like they’re still on their date. The movie starts and Stiles can’t even forget that Derek is next to him, not when he can feel Derek watching his face.

“What?” Stiles says.

“Nothing.” Derek turns his gaze back to the screen.

“It’s obviously something,” Stiles says.

Derek hums. “You’ll figure it out.”

Stiles grumbles under his breath, but his heart lurches when they get to the title sequence. “No,” he says. “No, no, no, no, no.” Stiles leans for the remote, one hand on Derek’s knee for balance. Derek gives him a pleading look.

“Come on,” Derek says.

“I don’t want to watch my own movie!” Stiles hisses.

Derek sighs. “Does it help if I say I haven’t seen it either?”

“You haven’t?”

“Well, I’m in it,” Derek says, sounding put out. “I don’t really like to watch my movies.”

“Great!” Stiles says. “I don’t want to watch it, you don’t want to watch it, so, let’s not watch it.”

Derek shoots him a playful smile. “It would be a first for the both of us.”

Stiles glares at him, because here’s Derek using his own words against him. Stiles can’t help but be curious about the film – a film that took millions of dollars to make – but it’s still an extension of his books. It’s still something he feels like he should remember.

“We don’t have to,” Derek says softly.

“No, it’s,” Stiles sighs. “It’s fine.”

He sinks back into the couch, and this time he’s a lot closer to Derek, arms pressed against each other. Stiles doesn’t miss Derek’s pleased smile as the movie resumes, and at least with watching this movie he doesn’t have to be alone.

“I think it’s supposed to be a good movie,” Derek says. “It was well received.”

“Oh good, so now we don’t know that it sucks,” Stiles mutters. “At least it’s got you in it.”

“Shh,” Derek says. “Watch the movie.”

It’s so surreal that this movie even exists that it’s easy to forget that it could be about Stiles’ books. But then the characters are introduced and there’s _Derek_ , and he looks handsome and perfect and everything Stiles could have asked for.

He leans forward, watching the screen intently. He’s so fucking glad that the story isn’t flat, that Stiles’ world seems to work just as well on the screen as it does on the page. It’s a good movie. There are changes that he’s not quite sure were in the novel or not, changes that Stiles should be able to pinpoint but can’t quite yet.

When the credits roll Stiles still stares at the screen. Everything goes quiet when Derek finally turns off the sound.

“So?” Derek asks.

“I liked it – I, it was good, you were really good,” Stiles breathes.

“Thanks,” whispers Derek. “Will I be playing that character again anytime soon?”

Stiles covers his face and groans. God, there’s so much he’s not sure about. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to be a part of the second movie, he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to write a whole other novel.

“God, I don’t know,” he chokes. “I have no idea what I’m doing, and I don’t even know if what I want now is the same as what I wanted before, and it all seems so impossible.”

“Hey,” Derek says, coming closer. “Hey. You don’t have to do it alone. Not the movie, and not even your novels.”

Stiles closes his eyes.

“You have the director, the other producers, the other script writers – then you have your editor and Lydia, and Scott knows about your plotlines –”

“I guess.”

Derek’s voice is low. “And you have me, Stiles. For all those things. I can help you.”

“But – my books, there will be so many plot holes that I don’t even know that I don’t know about,” Stiles opens his eyes. His throat is tight and he wishes he didn’t have to do this, that he didn’t have to make all these decisions.

If he weren’t famous when he lost his memories, the only person he’d be letting down would be himself.

“Stiles,” Derek says. “No one will expect them to be perfect, not when they find out that you’ve lost so much time.”

Stiles looks at his fingers. And there’s the truth. The whole world is going to find out about his condition eventually. Stiles won’t be able to hide that forever, just like he won’t be able to hide from his life forever.

The silence stays as Stiles lets himself be dragged to bed. He gets changed into his bed clothes, barely aware that Derek is across the room and can easily see him undressing.

Stiles’ pulse is still running mad. He’ll have to call Lydia in the morning, and at some point soon he’ll have to look at his notes. He’s not helping himself by doing nothing about it.

“I had a good time tonight,” Derek whispers, moments before he turns off the bedside lamp.

“Yeah?” Stiles mumbles.

“Of course.”

“Me too.”

Everything goes dark and Stiles wishes that he could shuffle closer to Derek without it being weird, that he could have Derek’s arm around him as he falls asleep.

\--

When Stiles wakes, the other side of the bed is empty. He stretches out and the sheets are still warm, they still smell like Derek. He can hear footsteps in the kitchen and the smell of bacon flits through the air. Stiles groans.

In the kitchen Derek’s wearing a worn shirt and boxers, hair sticking up.

“Morning,” Derek murmurs, placing a cup of coffee down in front of Stiles. It’s black.

Stiles can feel the corner of his lips tilt up as he wraps his hands around the mug. He never thought he could have something like this, that he’d have someone who would want to cook him breakfast in the morning and make him coffee.

“I was thinking we could go visit Isaac today,” Derek says, when they’ve almost finished their meal.

“You sure you want me to come?”

Derek nods, lips pressed together. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Stiles sighs. “I don’t know… how to be friends with the people I was friends with before. It’s awkward.”

“Stiles –”

“Why didn’t you kiss me last night?” Stiles asks, lifting his gaze. The chair squeaks as Derek jerks back, swallowing down the last drop of his coffee and coughing hard.

He stares at Stiles, his whole body gone tense. “Did you want me to?”

Stiles shrugs. “I would have let you.”

He stands up and puts his dishes in the sink. Derek hasn’t stopped looking at him, not even when he starts to help with clearing everything up. Stiles almost wishes he hadn’t brought it up, because now the silence between them is strained and he can’t stop thinking about what it would’ve been like to have Derek kiss him.

“Um,” Derek says, hands by his sides. Stiles turns to face him. “Last night, you, you looked almost scared. More than nervous. That’s why I didn’t kiss you.”

“You wanted to, right?” Stiles asks.

Derek rolls his eyes. “Of course I wanted to –”

Stiles lurches forward. He doesn’t care that he looks like a mess, that he’s tired, because he’s waited long enough. The kiss is clumsy, very much so, and Derek makes a noise against Stiles’ mouth before one hand is at Stiles’ hip and the other is at his jaw.

He pulls Stiles in, gently angles his head just so, and then their mouths are moving together. It’s fast and good and desperate, and Derek’s kissing him like he needs it to breathe.

“ _Stiles_ ,” he says, over his lips, before Stiles is being kissed again, hard. Stiles can barely keep up, he’s never felt so wanted, and it’s so strange because this is Stiles’ first kiss between them, but it’s definitely not Derek’s.

Then Derek breaks away, leaning his forehead against Stiles’. “Sorry,” he gasps. “Sorry.”

Stiles opens his eyes, lips wet and breathing hard. His hands are by his sides and he’s dizzy, lips tingling. He freezes when Derek cups Stiles’ face, thumbs running warm over skin, and he kisses him gently, slowing everything down.

Derek pulls apart, just for a second, and looks Stiles in the eye – a careful, loving look, before his fingers sweep across Stiles’ cheeks and he leans in and kisses Stiles again, slow, leisurely, fucking wonderful, until Stiles is sighing into him.

He’s brave enough to run his hands over Derek’s chest, before winding his arms around Derek’s neck. Derek steps into him, pushing him against the kitchen counter, and this – it’s warm and easy, and Stiles would’ve been missing this, if he had known what kissing Derek felt like.

When they stop Derek sort of shudders into Stiles’ arms, dropping his head to Stiles’ shoulder and pressing the length of their bodies even closer together. Stiles swallows, feeling shaky, but he wraps his arms around Derek.

Stiles has never held Derek before, not like this, but Derek’s held him. Derek’s touched him before, and he’s probably missed the feel of another warm body, of Stiles’ body. God, the last time they hugged each other was in the hospital, when Stiles had just woken up and before Derek realized the memories had gone.

It’s the weirdest first kiss Stiles has ever had. Because it’s meant so much. Because it’s not actually their first kiss. Because it’s left him so breathless he can barely stand.

Derek looks a little sheepish when he pulls back. “I missed this,” he admits.

“My teenage self can’t believe _this_ just happened,” Stiles says, hoping that Derek can’t hear the mad thump of his heart. Derek smiles at him, eyes a little wet, and Stiles slips past him and tugs Derek’s hand, leading them out of the kitchen.

They fall onto the couch and Stiles turns on the television. Derek is hesitant at first, but it’s clear he doesn’t want to stop touching Stiles for the fear that they’ll never start touching each other again, and their legs end up tangled together, with Stiles’ side pressed up against Derek’s.

“Do you want to know how this started?” Derek says in a murmur.

“What?” Stiles turns his head, sees Derek’s jaw and his dark stubble, and he flushes, remembering the way it had felt against his skin.

“Us. You and me.” He waits for Stiles to nod before he continues. “I was hopeless at this whole dating thing, and it was you. You teased me and got under my skin and asked me out. It was all you.”

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief. “No. But you’re you! I seriously had the courage to do that?”

“I made it very easy for you,” Derek assures. “I was very interested.”

Stiles bites his lip, desperately glad that Derek’s still interested in him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait everyone! Hopefully this chapter will make it up to you all :)
> 
> I had wanted to update before my exams started, but it didn't happen sorry :( But my exams are over now which is good!! Hopefully the updates will now be a little more frequent.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bleep0bleep :) :) :) :)

The days have been going by so quickly. Derek has been accompanying Stiles to meetings about the movie, has been trying to make this long process as easy as possible. It helps that a lot of the planning had happened before Stiles’ accident, but Stiles still feels so out of his depth.

“How are you feeling?” Lydia asks him, holding out her hand. Stiles gratefully takes the coffee she offers. It won’t calm him down but at least he will feel more awake.

“I don’t know,” Stiles admits. “I hate the way they all look at me, and there are just so many of them.”

Lydia tilts her head to the side. “Are you glad we’re doing this, though? That we’re still making this movie?”

Stiles shrugs. “You said...you said that I was excited for it. Before.”

She smiles, eyes going fond. “Yeah.”

“And if it weren’t for the first one, I wouldn’t have met Derek,” Stiles says. He takes a sip of his drink, trying to hide his smile. Things have been good with Derek recently. It’s easier to have a conversation with him; it’s easier to wake up next to him in the morning.

Sometimes it’s still hard. Derek sits on the edge of telling Stiles all about their shared memories, and Stiles – Stiles can’t handle it every time. He tries to listen. He tries not to invalidate everything that Derek’s feeling, tries not to make the very beginning of their relationship meaningless. It’s not easy though, even if Stiles is getting better at hearing it all.

“That’s true,” Lydia says, giving him a knowing look. “And now we have a date for filming.”

Stiles groans. “It’s so soon.”

Lydia turns to face him. She takes a deep breath and her eyes are sharp, lips pressed together as she stares at Stiles. “I was thinking...”

“Yeah?”

“We need to tell the press and your fans about your condition, Stiles. It’s going to get out. With all these movie negotiations, and meeting so many people that you’ve met before – it’s going to get out,” Lydia says. “It’s going to get out and it should be on our terms.”

Stiles stares at her. He feels the blood rush from his face, a sickness pooling in his gut. “I can’t.”

“Think about it,” she says softly. “I’d rather do this in a way we can control, Stiles.”

He looks down, a hot lump in his throat. He can’t even comprehend what that would be like, having the whole world know that his head is broken. That he might not be able to finish his novels. That he can’t remember getting married.

Lydia takes pity on him. “Come on,” she says. “We still have half an hour of this meeting to go.”

She straightens her blouse, ready to leave. Stiles hesitates. The people in these meetings, they want him to know more about his novels. They want to know how many ways they can set up a third movie, what things they can cut and what things they can’t.

Stiles doesn’t have the answers, not like they want him to.

He reaches out and tugs the end of Lydia’s sleeve. “Lyds,” he whispers.

“Mm?” she asks.

“I – will you come around tonight? Isaac is coming for dinner, but after do you want to get drunk and look at my notes with me? I can’t do it by myself,” Stiles says, his cheeks heating up. He’s embarrassed because this is so small. All he has to do is open his laptop, find the right file and then just read. It’s so small but he’s having so much trouble making himself do it.

“I’ll bring the tequila,” she says, smiling.

“You’re not worried about spoilers?” Stiles asks, feeling a bit lighter.

“Stiles, if it means you’ll look at your notes then I really don’t care. Otherwise, I’d probably never find out how you planned on ending it,” Lydia tells him.

Stiles bites his lip. “Okay. Okay. We’ll do it.”

\--

Dinner goes as smoothly as it can. Isaac has no idea what to say, not since he found out that Stiles doesn’t know him anymore. It helps to have Derek and Lydia there, easing out the conversation so that it doesn’t fall flat.

When it comes for Isaac to leave he keeps eye contact with Stiles and jerks his head towards the door. Stiles tries not to sigh and smiles, following Isaac out of the apartment.

“I had fun tonight,” he says, almost suddenly. Stiles faces him and bites his lip. Isaac still feels like a stranger to him, even though he was there that time Stiles got frightened by the paparazzi, even though they shared this apartment for more than a few days.

“That’s good,” Stiles says, scratching his cheek. “You should come around again.”

“I will,” Isaac says, smiling. “Um, Stiles, I just wanted to say something. I know that this whole situation is weird, but I’d still really like to be your friend. I’ve always been Derek’s friend first, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be your friend, too.”

“Okay,” Stiles finally says, and he figures with everything going on, he needs another friend in his life. “I think that would be nice.”

The words are difficult to say but it’s worth it for the way Isaac beams. Stiles can do this. He can be friends with the people he was friends with before, one step at a time. Isaac calls out goodbye to everyone else and then he’s gone.

Stiles closes the front door and leans against it, legs a little weak.

“Hey,” Derek says, coming towards him. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, nodding. “But now I think it’s time for the alcohol.”

Derek raises his eyebrows, and it’s then that Lydia comes from the kitchen with two shot glasses in her hands. She grins bright at Derek before shoving Stiles towards his bedroom.

“Ouch! Fine, I’m going.”

“What are you two doing?” Derek asks, trailing after them.

“We’re going to look at Stiles’ notes,” Lydia says, “Before he chickens out.”

Stiles shrugs when Derek looks at him, concern in his eyes, but he says nothing to Stiles, nothing to stop him. Derek seems to want Stiles to do this as much as Lydia does.

“Um, okay. Is there anything I can do?” he asks.

“I don’t think so,” Stiles tells him, hovering by the door. He smiles weakly at Derek before he feels a light press of fingers at his elbow. Stiles leans further into Derek’s touch.

“I’ll be out here if you need me,” he says, eyes serious.

Stiles feels his cheeks flush, already missing Derek in his space when he leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him.

He turns around and Lydia pulls the bottle of tequila from her handbag as she kicks off her shoes.

“It’s been awhile since I had a drink with you like this,” she says.

“Just give me the alcohol before I freak the fuck out,” Stiles says. Lydia does as he says, and he feels the burn of the drink down his throat. It takes him back to college parties and late night drinking in dorm rooms and Stiles realizes just how far away those times are now.

When he reaches for his laptop his hands are already shaking, not sure if he wants to look so far inside his old self’s head.

“Are we sure your files are backed up?” Lydia asks. “I don’t want us to accidentally delete them if we’re a bit drunk.”

“Yeah they are, Derek mentioned it a while back,” Stiles says.

They both climb onto the bed and the laptop whirs as it starts up. They can hear Derek in the kitchen, clearing up their plates from dinner. If this doesn’t go well at least he’s got Derek. He’s got his father and Scott and Derek and he doesn’t need his books, not really.

All through college he never thought that his books would get this popular, that he’d even finish the first one. If he could live without them then, he can live without them now.

But what else is he supposed to do with his life?

“Are you ready?” Lydia murmurs.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be ready,” Stiles says quietly.

Lydia finds his hand and squeezes it. They don’t open the document just yet, still feeling depressingly sober. It’s nice having Lydia next to him as they wait for the alcohol to kick in, having her here as his friend and not strictly as his manager.

“It’s time,” Lydia says, and Stiles takes a drink straight from the bottle. It takes an annoying amount of time to find the right file, everything weirdly named, and it almost makes Stiles want to forget this whole thing and try again later.

But then, the words are on the screen, the cursor blinking at him. Right now they’re just words and Stiles has to stare at them for a few minutes before he can take anything in. He realizes he’s holding in his breath and he shoves the laptop towards Lydia, letting her scroll through everything.

“Oh, thank God you have a chapter by chapter outline,” she breathes.

“What?”

“Here,” she says, pointing at the screen. “It’s kind of all over the place, though.”

Stiles’ head is spinning. He sees scraps of dialogue, and an alarming amount of statements with question marks tacked to the end of them; he sees a timeline of events and it’s all screaming at him, trying to get him to make sense of it but inside his head nothing is happening.

Lydia is sitting next to him, reading eagerly. “I knew it!” she says, hitting him on the arm. “I knew that was how you were going to do it.” Stiles looks away from the screen and stares at the far wall. He should know all of this stuff. He should know why Lydia is getting so excited reading about the Stranger, about the Queen, and about every other character and all of his plot points.

But he doesn’t.

“Stiles?” Lydia whispers.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, I got a bit carried away,” she says. “Come on, come take a proper look.”

“I can’t.”

“Here, come on. Just read the outline for the first chapter, that’s all,” she says softly.

“Fine,” Stiles says. He begins to read, almost hating the voice that comes through. It’s not the same as reading his novels because that had been edited and edited. This, this is Stiles through and through. Or, it’s him how he was before. It’s the him Derek fell in love with.

Still, he reads. Because Lydia is sitting next to him, hoping that he does it. Because too many people at the meetings want him to. Because he promised Derek that he would, months ago, when he first told Stiles about the Queen and her servant girl.

“Is it making any sense?” Lydia asks.

Stiles rubs his face. “A bit. More than I thought it would.”

“That’s good,” Lydia says. “We don’t have to read any more tonight.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, letting out a breath. He’s about to close the laptop when Lydia suddenly laughs, and she leans into Stiles’ shoulder, red hair covering her face. She’s still giggling a minute later, and Stiles glares at her, trying to get her to talk.

“Sorry!” she says. “Sorry. Just, I can’t believe you, just look.”

Lydia points to the screen and Stiles follows her finger. Stiles swallows. It’s about Derek’s character and the Stranger, about their relationship together.

_Now that they’re going to have sex, do I describe Derek’s actual dick or not??_

“You were scared to read these notes?” she says. “When you write little things like that to yourself?”

Stiles slams the laptop lid down. “Well, it’s not like that’s going to be a problem anymore. I’ll be forced to use my imagination,” he snaps.

The smile falls from Lydia’s face and it goes quiet for a moment. Stiles can feel himself blushing, and Lydia’s eyes widen in surprise. Fuck, now Stiles has admitted it to her. He’s told her that he hasn’t had sex with Derek yet even though they’ve been living with each other for months.

“You haven’t?” she asks.

Stiles shakes his head, too aware of Derek somewhere in the apartment, hoping that he can’t hear what they’re talking about.

“ _Really_?” she says. “He’s your husband! How haven’t you yet?”

“I just haven’t,” Stiles says flatly.

“Well,” Lydia says, nudging his side and keeping her tone light. “You definitely have something to look forward to.”

Stiles turns to face her, biting his lip. Suddenly he feels like a teenager again, eager to talk about crushes and boyfriends and everything else. It doesn’t have to be scary, being with Derek, even though he knows nothing about how to be with him.

“Yeah?” Stiles says. “You think so?”

Lydia nods, a chuckle on her lips. “Yes, Stiles. So, do you think you’ll still write that sex scene?”

“Lydia!” he groans. “I don’t know!” Stiles buries his face in his pillow, wondering how this could be more embarrassing. He doesn’t know enough about sex to be able to write it convincingly. Not when thousands of people are going to read it.

“And your father reads these books,” Lydia points out.

“Did you have to say that?” Stiles complains, but he starts to laugh into his pillow, letting himself go, not letting absolutely everything weigh him down.

They laugh and drink a little more, until eventually Lydia gets up and crashes in the spare bedroom, make up smudged under her eyes. Derek looks cautiously happy when he comes into their room, and Stiles is more drunk than not.

“Hey,” Stiles says, sitting up and trying hard not to remember what he had been talking about with Lydia.

“It’s late,” Derek says.

“You’re very observant.”

“Uh huh,” Derek says. “Was it good, then? Reading your notes? I heard you laughing.”

Stiles flushes.

“It was okay,” he allows, watching Derek step forward. His skin feels hot and he’s thinking, maybe, maybe he should reach out and tug Derek to him. He should pull his husband to the mattress and figure out what he forgot...what he doesn’t know.

A shiver falls over his body. It doesn’t exactly feel all good.

“You should get some sleep,” Derek says.

“You should kiss me,” Stiles mumbles back. It’s been too long since the last time, since the only time that Stiles can remember.

 He closes his eyes, and he hardly feels the touch of Derek’s lips against his forehead before Derek is pulling away again. Stiles sighs, and lets Derek’s hands help him under the covers. Stiles is asleep before Derek climbs into the bed beside him.

\--

The day before they start filming is the day news about Stiles’ condition gets leaked. Social media is blowing up, and the world seems to think that it’s all rumours until Lydia gets someone to make a statement.

They don’t give the whole truth; only share some of the details. The story they give means that Stiles hasn’t forgotten Derek completely, that he hasn’t forgotten his novels completely. Too many people start to call his phone, the names of contacts he doesn’t know flashing bright on the screen.

Stiles feels, more than ever, like he’s trapped inside his apartment.

“Why now?” Stiles says. “Why now when we’re shooting the movie tomorrow?”

Derek shrugs, looking pale. He sits next to Stiles on their couch, staring at the floor. It’s quiet in here. They’ve turned off the TV; they’ve turned off their phones. Now they’re just waiting for this mess to die down. Stiles doesn’t think it’s going to happen any time soon.

“I don’t want to do an interview,” Stiles says. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

“You don’t have to.”

“And I –” Stiles faces Derek, scrambling near him. “Have you seen what they’re saying about us?”

“Yes,” Derek snaps. “Yes, I have.”

Stiles shuffles away. Everyone is already putting an expiration date on their relationship, thinking that it can’t last like this. It can’t last if Stiles doesn’t remember half of their memories. And they don’t even know the whole story.

The only good thing about this situation is that Stiles had been slowly preparing himself for it – with Lydia asking him to think it all over, with Derek putting the thought in his head before any of this even happened.

“Derek...” Stiles whispers, trying to ignore the sting in his chest. “We’re trying, right? They don’t know about that.”

Derek’s shoulders are stiff, his jaw in a hard line. He uses the back of his hand to wipe at his face, at the trail of tears down his cheek. The media is getting to him. The things that they’re saying – a small part of Derek probably believes them if he’s as affected as this.

Stiles tries not to let his heart sink as he waits for Derek to answer, the silence that stretches on only confirming the doubt that Derek does have. The doubt that’s only there because Stiles is too different, too different from the way he was before.

“Yeah,” Derek finally mumbles. He toes off his shoes and a breath leaves his lungs. “Can I?”

“What?”

Derek opens his mouth to explain, and then must decide it’s too much bother. He grabs a cushion and places it on Stiles’ knees before he slides down the couch and rests his head on Stiles’ legs, lying on his back.

Stiles swallows, unsure, and Derek has his eyes closed. He watches the tension bleed from Derek’s muscles, watches the way his forehead smoothes out.

Stiles can feel his own heart beating in his chest. He’s almost dizzy, and he can see just how beautiful Derek is. He wants to trace the line of his nose with his fingers and feel the rough surface of his stubble. Slowly, Stiles lifts his hand and before he can convince himself not to, he runs his hand through Derek’s hair.

He’s surprised by the way Derek groans.

“So you like this, huh?”

Derek only grunts in reply. Stiles scrapes his fingernails against Derek’s scalp, a little entranced by the sounds and sighs Derek starts to make. Stiles wonders if they’ve done this before. Maybe, back before his accident Stiles comforted Derek like this after a bad day.

It feels nice enough that Stiles doesn’t want to ask. He doesn’t want to know if Derek’s trying to relive another memory, or if he’s trying be in the moment with him now.

“I love you,” Derek says, opening his eyes. His eyelashes flutter. “I don’t want you to forget that. Not again.”

Then he closes his eyes again, not waiting to see the reaction on Stiles’ face.

\--

Stiles doesn’t strictly need to be on the set if he doesn’t want to be. They could probably get on fine without him. The media is still speculating exactly what’s wrong with him, and Stiles has every reason not to go. He doesn’t want to be subject to wandering eyes. He doesn’t want to be asked questions he doesn’t know the answer to.

But he’d rather not leave Derek alone with it all.

“I feel like we should maybe be excited,” Stiles says.

Derek looks up at him, eyes slightly red. They had both slept poorly the night before, twitching under the covers, waiting for the next day to come. Stiles hadn’t known what to say to make it better. He could hear every single one of Derek’s breaths as they both tried to sleep, and Stiles hadn’t known how to comfort his husband. He wishes he did.

“You do have fun playing this character, right?” Stiles asks.

Derek smiles, pretty and small. “Yeah, of course I do. And I feel like I know this character more than any of the other ones I’ve played.”

“Yeah?”

Derek nods. “We talk a lot about him. When we first got together I didn’t want you to tell me too much because I wanted to be surprised for when your books came out. But it was causing too many problems and I gave in. You needed to talk about what you did each day, and besides, I liked to argue with you about this character. All the time.”

“I want to do that,” Stiles whispers. “Argue with you, about my characters. Maybe it will make me want to write.”

Derek licks his lips, and Stiles almost forgets that the whole world is looking at him right now. “Sure,” he says, almost smirking. “I can definitely argue with you if you want me to.”

Stiles grins. “Good. But first, we’ve got to get through today.”

The drive to the movie set is short. Derek slides his hand over the backseat and Stiles takes it gratefully, trying not to remember how distraught Derek had been yesterday. He doesn’t have much experience with the media but he knows it almost always makes everything worse.

He tries to remind himself that Derek is still here, that he still wants Stiles despite everything.

“What do I do if someone wants to talk to me?” Stiles asks, squeezing Derek’s fingers a little too hard.

“I’ll be with you,” Frank says, and Stiles meets his gaze through the rear view mirror.

“Just pretend you don’t know them,” Derek suggests. “Then you won’t have to speak with them.”

Stiles shoots him an unimpressed look. “I thought we were trying to convince everyone that I remember more than I actually do.”

“I think you’ll mostly be left alone,” Frank says. “Everyone there has a job to do anyway. Including Derek.”

“Remind me of my job again?” Stiles says weakly.

The corners of Derek’s lips tilt up. “You get to stare at me all day. You get to make a fuss when you see something that you don’t like.”

Stiles looks at Derek, almost wanting to kiss him for trying to make things seem light again. He doesn’t though, because soon they’re pulling up to the set and Stiles’ stomach is in knots.

“It will be okay,” Derek says in a low voice. “At least you can say you’ve seen the first movie.”

Stiles barks out a laugh.

There’s a frantic buzz on set, the excitement of the first day of shooting evident in the air. Derek disappears quickly, but Frank stays close by Stiles as promised. He sees Erica once but she’s busy, waving at him from across the room before she disappears.

It turns out there’s a lot of waiting to do, even more as Stiles tries to avoid talking to anyone. A lot of people stare, more than he thought they would, and Stiles wants to shrink into himself. He’s grateful when it’s mostly the people he’s been sharing meetings with that talk to him, that tell him where to go, what to do.

The first scene they shoot, Derek isn’t even in it. All the same it’s strange and overwhelming, and Stiles isn’t exactly sure which part of his novel they’re recreating even though he’s read the script.

But the sets he’s seen that aren’t green screens are beautiful, and it’s fascinating figuring out how a movie is put together.

A random stranger approaches him, thrusting a coffee his way. Her eyes are sharp and Stiles hesitates before thanking her for the drink.

“I’m the intern here,” she says eventually.

“Um, hi.”

“You can tell me if you need anything and I can get it for you,” she says. Stiles expects her to be on her way, but she shuffles on her feet, staring at him awkwardly.

Stiles doesn’t know what to do or say. He wonders if he already knows her, a thought that plagues him with every new person he meets.

“Is it really true?” she blurts out.

Stiles hesitates, eyes scanning the room, searching for an excuse to leave.

“Are your memories really gone, like what the news said?”

“Um –”

“Is the third book still happening?” she demands.

“Yes?” Stiles says, chuckling nervously. “One step at a time though, right?”

The girl standing opposite him frowns. Stiles takes a step backwards, and Frank is by his side in a instant, ushering the girl away. She returns to her job and Stiles feels like he’s out of his depth just by being here.

He doesn’t know how to answer those sorts of questions.

Stiles jumps when someone taps him on the shoulder from behind. He’s afraid it’s going to be another stranger, someone else asking about the state of his brain, but it’s Derek. Stiles’ eyes widen when he sees him.

“Oh my God, you look exactly like I imagined!”

Derek tries to smile, but his hands are clenched by his sides.

“You have Erica and the costume department to thank for that,” Derek says quietly. He’s wearing a white shirt, unlaced at the collar and down his chest, showing off dark hair. He has a worn leather belt, dirty boots, and a sweeping cloak around his shoulders. Derek glances around, and here in his costume he looks uncomfortable, nothing like the person Stiles had seen on the screen when they both sat and watched the first movie together.

“Hey,” Stiles says, voice low. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, scratching his cheek. “It’s just, these people, most of them worked on the first film, or were there during press and they’ve seen us together before.”

“And?”

Derek stares right back at him. “They’re looking at us after yesterday’s news and there’s nothing stopping them from seeing...”

Stiles isn’t sure if he wants Derek to continue.

“From seeing that we act different, together, from how we were,” Derek admits. Stiles can barely hear him over the sounds of everyone else working around them.

“Derek –”

“I have to go,” Derek says. He puts on a smile and leans forward, kissing Stiles’ cheek. Stiles wants to reach out and hold his hand again, wants to let Derek know that he’s here. Stiles doesn’t know how to be like they were before, like how all these strangers remember, and he tries not to feel hopeless as he watches Derek walk away.

_\--_

It had been stunning, watching Derek act. Stiles had tried not to look like he hadn’t seen it before, Derek switching on his character and being someone so utterly different, being someone that Stiles had created.

Now they’re at home, both exhausted. It had been a long day for many reasons, and Derek looks tired, skin pale at his cheeks. It seems like he’s been that way ever since the media got a hold of Stiles’ story.

“How did we act before? Around other people?” Stiles asks suddenly.

Derek lifts his eyes from the book he’s reading. Stiles closes his laptop, the document of his notes open, there to look at if he wants to.

“I – we –” Derek splutters, at a loss for words.

“Was it like how we were at your last movie? When you had your arm around me and you were touching me, and – like that?” Stiles asks, biting his lip.

Finally, Derek nods.

“I liked it,” Stiles says. “It wasn’t...real back then. We hadn’t talked yet, I hadn’t known if you still wanted me without my memories. But I liked it. I want you to touch me like that.”

Derek stares at him, closing his book and losing his page. His hair is damp from the shower he took and his skin looks soft. “Now?” he asks, voice tentative.

Stiles bites his lip. “If you want,” he says, shrugging.

“Come here,” Derek says, reaching for Stiles. It’s not exactly what Stiles had in mind, but he’s not complaining as he climbs onto Derek’s lap, feeling arms wind around his waist.

Stiles places his hands on Derek’s shoulders and he thinks that if this was before his accident, he would have already had the courage to kiss Derek by now. But it’s not, and instead they stare at each other, small smiles on their faces.

“Is this what you meant?” Derek murmurs. He drops his head down to Stiles’ shoulder, lips pressing against the fabric of his shirt.

Stiles swallows, holding back a sigh when he feels Derek’s mouth move up his neck, hot breath just over his pulse point. It’s exciting, his skin prickling, and his hands clutch at Derek’s shirt.

Then Derek’s kisses turn more open mouthed, impatience shining through, because he’s at Stiles’ jaw and then he’s suddenly at Stiles’ mouth. Their chests press together and Stiles kisses Derek like he can’t get enough, trying to commit the feel of it, the heat of it, to memory – and Derek, Derek’s mouth is insistent, wet, perfect, and he’s kissing like it’s been years for him. Like it’s been a life time since they last did this.

This could lead to more. It’s already more with Stiles half hard and trying to keep himself from grinding down into Derek’s lap. And then Derek’s hands sneak under Stiles’ shirt, a brush of skin on skin that makes Stiles arch his back, a broken moan at his lips.

His hips stutter and he feels overwhelmed, the heat from Derek’s body suddenly too much, how close they are more intoxicating than he anticipated.

“I don’t remember,” Stiles says, breaking away. He lets his hands drop from where they’re tangled in Derek’s hair. “I don’t remember doing this.”

Derek sits up a little straighter underneath him. “What?”

Stiles’ mouth hangs open, not sure what to say. His head is spinning and he tries not to shiver when Derek slowly trails his fingers back down Stiles’ spine, before resting his hands at Stiles’ thighs. Stiles stares at Derek, and he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone so beautiful, so wrecked, hair a mess, lips red and pupils blown.

“I – I’ve met so many people today, Derek, so many. And I think I should’ve known who some of them were,” Stiles says, words spilling out of his mouth. “What if there’s like another person I’ve been with like this before I met you? I won’t know who they are. I won’t know how they’ve touched me. It’s hard enough not knowing what it’s like to be with you.”

Stiles closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what to think. He doesn’t like not knowing who he’s touched, how he’s been touched.

He trembles when after a long second, Derek reaches forward and cups Stiles’ cheeks. He waits until Stiles opens his eyes, and then he holds his gaze.

“Stiles. Stiles, it’s okay,” he says, voice hoarse. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he manages. His whole body is hot and no longer in a good way. “It’s not. I don’t know anything. I want to crawl out of my skin.”

Derek leans in and kisses his forehead. “Hey. Don’t think about it. You can’t change it. And I’m here, okay? I’m here.”

Stiles lets out a shaky breath.

“We don’t have to do this,” Derek says, thumbs running in circles over Stiles’ legs. His voice is soothing, and slowly Stiles feels himself calming down. He feels comfortable here, with Derek, even though he doesn’t feel like he fits in his own skin, in a body that’s six years older than he’s used to.

“I want to,” Stiles admits. “I want to, I just don’t know how.”

He and Derek stare at each other, a charge in the air. Derek’s chest is rising and falling, and there’s clear shock in his eyes, like he still can’t believe that he even gets to hold Stiles again, let alone anything else.

It’s striking, having Derek so close to him. Stiles can see the gold flecks in his eyes and then Derek’s gaze drops down to Stiles’ lips, like he wants to kiss them again. He’s not going to, Stiles knows, not unless Stiles leans in first – and he does.

He leans into a kiss that’s softer and sweeter than before, that sends a delightful shiver over Stiles’ skin; a promise of more, of not having to rush, of feeling safe and warm and wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading and all your support in the comments <3 I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to bleep0bleep who is super wonderful! 
> 
> Also please note the rating change!

It’s strange that Derek and Stiles fell in love on a movie set the first time, because now it’s happening again. But even though Stiles doesn’t remember he doesn’t think it’s the same, it can’t have been the same as it is now. All too often Stiles catches Derek looking at him between takes, soft, secret smiles on his lips that can’t have existed before.

Before there wouldn’t have been the way Stiles wakes up to the smell of coffee in the morning, stretching out across the sheets and feeling the lingering heat of Derek’s body.

Before they wouldn’t have had sleepy car rides together to the set, stealing nervous kisses that are steadily becoming more and more familiar. At the end of the day they wouldn’t have been able to travel _home_ together, to a warm apartment away from the rest of the world.

Back then there wouldn’t have been a wedding ring on Stiles’ finger to look down at, a nice reminder that this, _them_ , isn’t going away despite what the media likes to say.

He wouldn’t have been able to surely say that Derek wants him, wants him for forever.

There are still moments where Stiles doesn’t really know if this isn’t just a pale imitation of what they had back then. And sometimes Stiles thinks that Derek must want the old Stiles back, he must, but then Stiles sees Derek’s face and he remembers that Derek is still here, with or without the memories.

The days can be too much. There are often too many questions on the set that he doesn’t know the answer to, and people he doesn’t know like to pry and try and figure out how much he’s lost. They like to ask him about what the memory loss means for his novels.

But things are going nicely, he thinks. Life with Derek is going on, moving fast – and it’s more than Stiles could ask for. It’s more than his teenage self would’ve even thought to have asked for.

Today the sun is hiding behind the clouds, trying to sneak through. Erica plops down on the chair next to him, putting her feet up.

“Getting anywhere?”

Stiles shrugs, closing his laptop. He’s trying to figure out where he stands with his novels. He’s immersed himself in all the details his previous self left behind and he’s read those words so many times now that it doesn’t hurt to look at them anymore.

If anything, he’s excited. He can already tell that this trilogy has something special to it. He wonders if before he knew that, or if it took Stiles looking in as an outsider to see it. Stiles just wishes that he could actually write a sentence more, that he could add on to what was already there before his accident.

“Not really,” Stiles says.

“You’ll get there, Stilinski,” she grins. “I know you will. I’ve been around when you’ve had writer’s block before.”

Stiles glowers at her. “This is a little more than writer’s block.”

She shrugs. They’ve become slow friends over the past few weeks, and she likes to tell embarrassing stories about Derek. Little things that make Derek’s cheeks go red when Stiles mentions them at home, as well as things that make Stiles fall over laughing.

Erica has known Derek for much longer than Stiles has, longer than even if his memories were still intact. It’s nice to have her here. It’s nice to see that Derek has another friend amongst all the madness that is celebrity life.

“Have you seen the latest speculation about your condition?” Erica asks.

“No.”

“Yeah, if I were you I wouldn’t want to look at it either,” she says.

“Lucky you’re not me, then.”

“They’ve got a lot of it wrong,” Erica says softly. “Your secrets are safe.”

Stiles sighs.

“But there is a quiz you can take,” she says slyly. “ _Which celebrity would you wake up married to?!”_

She reads the quiz title out in a theatrical voice and Stiles’ stomach sinks. They’re making games out of his life, and the media doesn’t get it. They don’t fucking care that his entire world has been turned upside down.

There’s a general consensus that Stiles remembers Derek, remembers dating him and meeting him and falling in love with him – just not the marriage part. Not the part where they exchanged their vows and promised to love each other.

“Let me see it,” he grumbles, when Erica’s still staring at him expectantly. He takes the quiz, answering ten or so obscure questions about his personality. Stiles is a little bored by the end of it, waiting impatiently for the results to load. Then his mouth drops open. “I got myself!”

Erica cackles. “I got Derek when I did it.”

Stiles shoots her a look. “He’s mine.”

She throws up her hands. “Hey, he’s all yours. Maybe once or twice I’ve thought about it – but, he’s definitely only got eyes for you.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says, trying to hide the smile on his face.  “It’s just weird.”

“What?”

“Being on here, being an option on some stupid quiz. I guess I haven’t really gotten my head around the fact that Derek’s not the only famous person,” Stiles says. “I am too.”

Erica’s smile stays steady. “I’m sure you’ll figure it all out.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says quietly.

“I have to go,” she says, standing up. Erica reaches out and squeezes his arm. “Stay strong. Look after Derek for me!”

Stiles nods and she looks pleased. He can see now that Derek’s work can be incredibly draining. Stiles doesn’t think he noticed it before when Derek was working on that other movie. There had been too much going on at home, too much coldness and confusion and Stiles is glad the worst of it all is over. He thinks things can only get better from here.

He picks up his laptop and wanders around the set, trying not to think about his work. Every sentence Stiles writes he ends up deleting soon after. It’s crazy. He’s going nowhere and sometimes Stiles meets up with his editor, Jenny, and he thinks he’s more of a disappointment than not. She’s helpful though, encouraging. Stiles likes her.

Stiles finds Derek standing at the edge of one of the sets. His arms are folded, and there’s dirt and fake blood on his face, a bruise just under his eye. Stiles winces but he knows it’s all makeup. Stiles steps over to him.

“Hey.”

Derek looks up and he slowly smiles. They stare at each other for a few moments before Derek reaches out and touches Stiles’ waist, hand sliding to the small of Stiles’ back. Stiles flushes, and the moment feels private despite the fact they’re in public.

Derek leans into him and kisses his cheek.

Stiles giggles, batting him away. “Gross. You’re getting dirt all over me.”

“Am I?” Derek asks, dragging his rough cheek against Stiles’.

“Stop it,” Stiles says, laughing. There’s a grin on Derek’s face and Stiles thinks this is the best he’s felt all day. He sees some of the crew glancing at them, and Stiles shuffles away from Derek. “How are you?”

Derek shrugs. “We had a problem with one of the stunts. So today might take longer than planned.”

“Oh. Do you want me to wait for you to finish?” Stiles asks.

He shakes his head. “No. You go home. I think Lydia’s here. She can give you a ride.”

Stiles looks around, and across the room he sees the red of Lydia’s hair.

“Okay,” Stiles says. He tightens his hold of his laptop and squeezes Derek’s fingers with his other hand. “I’ll see you later.”

Derek nods, keeping his eyes on Stiles. He smirks when Stiles is reluctant to move away, glancing over his shoulder. Stiles’ cheeks heat up. There’s a flutter in his chest knowing that Derek’s still looking at him, still looking at him as he makes his way over to Lydia.

Stiles likes the way Derek’s not afraid to touch him anymore. He never knew how much Derek had missed it, this casual intimacy, because now Derek is in his space all the time. There’s the brush of a thumb against Stiles’ neck as Derek places his coffee in front of him in the morning, a hand at his shoulder blades when Derek passes by too close. When they’re watching the TV Derek slides an arm around Stiles’ waist, pulling him near, and Stiles can feel it when he breathes.

Derek searches for his touch, almost craves it. Stiles loves it.

But Derek still doesn’t touch him when they’re in their bed, in the morning or at night. Stiles doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, because sometimes they both lie awake and Stiles holds his breath, hoping Derek will reach across the sheets for him. He never does.

Lydia sighs when he reaches her. Stiles frowns.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she says. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Stiles nods and figures Lydia will tell him if she wants to. When they’re in the car he tells Lydia about how he’s barely made any progress with his novels. Stiles thinks she might tell him to work more, do more, but she doesn’t.

“I’m just happy you’re trying,” she says, smile wide. “And we have the movie happening, so your book isn’t too much of a priority. Remember when I couldn’t even get you to read your books?”

“That is definitely one thing I do remember,” Stiles says, grinning back. For a second the overwhelming pressure from the fans and the press doesn’t seem so bad. It helps to have a friend.

“It’s nice to see you happy with Derek,” Lydia says quietly, playing with the hem of her skirt. Her hair hides half her face, and Stiles leans over to see her better.

“Yeah?” he says. “It’s nice. Things are better.”

“I’m glad,” she says, sighing again.

“But..?”

She pauses. “I sort of miss that for myself.” Lydia clears her throat but her voice still sounds thin, like she’s trying not to let it break. “I miss talking to Cora.”

“Lyds,” Stiles whispers.

Lydia doesn’t look at him. She lifts her chin and stares forward, almost like she’s about to talk business. Stiles stares at her carefully. He doesn’t know enough about what happened to know what to say.

“I think maybe I was too stubborn,” Lydia tells him. “She called me the next day, after she ran away. She texted me too. She apologized. I was too proud to reply and I did nothing when I could’ve done something.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “But she did leave after you slept together.”

Lydia looks at her feet. “But now she’s given me space, and she hasn’t tried to talk to me at all anymore and I – I think I was trying to play a game with her because I felt hurt. See how long I could make her like, come after me. But now she’s stopped.”

“And you miss her.”

“Yeah.”

Stiles doesn’t have any advice to give her. He knows Cora cares a lot about Derek, but that’s all. He doesn’t know if this is something Lydia should want.

“Well, whatever you want to do I’ll be here, okay?” he says.

Lydia smiles at him. “Thanks, Stiles.”

They go out for coffee and Stiles at least knows what to expect when it comes to the photographers that might be around. They’re still interested in him because Stiles has refused to do any sort of interview. Apparently he didn’t do many before the accident, so his silence isn’t too strange.

When he gets home it’s late afternoon. The apartment is quiet, still. He misses Derek already, even though he’s the person Stiles spends most of his time with. He thinks he knows why he married Derek. If he had felt anything like this good, happy feeling in his stomach then it’s no surprise.

He opens his laptop again and doesn’t expect to get anything done. But most of the day has been good so far and his fingertips feel light, like they want to write. He has a scene in his head, something he knows he wants to see.

Stiles swallows. He has to get past the feeling that each sentence he writes is awful or stupid. He tells himself that he can’t delete anything until he’s written a few hundred words instead of only ten, and it works. He keeps on writing, pushing himself further, imagining Derek’s face as his character fights or talks.

It’s honestly amazing that he gets to daydream about his husband’s face for his job.

He barely notices it when the room goes dark. He’s still typing - and editing, and what he’s got isn’t a lot but it’s _something_. It’s a draft. He won’t have to start from scratch anymore.

Stiles’ phone sounds and it breaks him from his thoughts. He closes his laptop, muscles sore from sitting in one position for so long. He cracks his back and he’s exhausted, completely overwhelmed that he spent so much time doing something he desperately needed, wanted to do.

Derek’s sent him a text, saying he’ll be home soon. Stiles gets up and turns on all the lights in the apartment, heading to the kitchen to find something to cook for the both of them. He can’t wait for Derek to be here, to come home so Stiles can tell him that he managed to write, that he actually fucking did something for once.

He hears Derek’s keys in the door half an hour later and Stiles rushes over.

“Derek,” he breathes, once the door is wide open.

Derek stills, staring at him unsure. Stiles just laughs, feeling light and more carefree than he’s done in a while. He’s bursting with the need to tell Derek, to let him know that he thinks he can do this. He thinks he can write this book if he really, really tries.

“Hurry up, come in,” Stiles says, reaching forward and pulling Derek in by his shoulders.

Derek lets himself be manhandled, Stiles’ hands still touching his arms as he kicks off his shoes and closes the apartment door.

“Stiles, what is it?” he says, looking tired and worried. Stiles grins at him, shaking his head. He doesn’t know how to say what he’s feeling – like all the things he thought were impossible might become reality.

Instead of answering, he sighs and leans forward, kissing Derek on the lips. Derek tenses before his arms wrap around Stiles’ waist. He feels warm and good and a lovely shiver passes over Stiles’ skin when Derek opens his mouth against Stiles’.

Stiles pulls back suddenly, licking his lips. “I wrote something today,” Stiles tells him.

Derek’s eyes roam over his face, lips parted. “What?”

“I _wrote_ something.”

Derek starts to smile, his eyes going bright. Stiles feels himself fall a little harder. “Really?” he asks, and Stiles kisses him again.

“Yes,” he manages against Derek’s mouth, winding his arms around Derek’s neck. He knows he’s attacking his husband with kisses but Derek doesn’t seem to mind, their chests pressed close together. Derek smells fresh and clean, and his lips are soft and eager.

“Can I read it?” Derek asks him.

Stiles ducks his head, feeling Derek kiss the corner of his mouth and across his cheek. “Um, no, it’s only small. It’s not really anything yet. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek whispers, relaxing his hold of Stiles. “You don’t have to show me anything you don’t want to.”

Stiles looks up at him, lips stretching into a wide smile. He slides forward again and cups Derek’s face, kissing him eagerly.

Derek pulls back. “Stiles, um, sorry. I just got in and I’m tired and my feet are killing me. I really need to sit down –”

Stiles beams at him. “I made us dinner!” He threads his fingers through Derek’s and leads him to the kitchen. Derek looks carefully pleased when he sits down, groaning softly once he’s off his feet. It takes Stiles a few minutes to serve everything up, but he falls into the seat next to Derek’s and starts to eat.

They’re both hungry, and they glance at each other, barely talking as they eat. The day’s been long but there’s a thrum of energy under Stiles’ skin that he can’t get rid of. He barely knows if he’ll be able to sleep tonight or if he’ll lay awake thinking about Derek or his novel.

“Did you guys manage to finish the scene?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah,” Derek says, swallowing a mouthful of food. “I feel like it could’ve gone better, but we finished it.”

“I bet you did great,” Stiles says. “You might even win another Oscar for it.”

Derek rolls his eyes, kicking Stiles gently under the table. “It’s been years since the last one. I doubt it will happen again.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow. “I’m not so sure about that – you’re, you’re fucking stunning when you act.”

Derek’s cheeks go red and he drops his eyes to the table. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“I’m so happy they cast you in the _Crown for a Criminal_ films,” Stiles says, a little breathlessly. Derek slowly lifts his gaze, pushing his nearly empty plate away from him. If he hadn’t been cast, they wouldn’t have this, they probably wouldn’t have even met.

“Me too,” he whispers. Stiles feels a bit like all the air has left the room.

Stiles licks his lips, eyes falling over Derek’s chest. “Um,” he says. “Are you still, um, tired?”

Derek stares at him, forehead smooth. There’s a question in his eyes, but he seems to know what Stiles wants. His eyes go dark and Derek still looks like he needs some sleep, but that’s not as important. Not when it’s been months and months for him.

Stiles holds his breath, waiting for Derek’s answer. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, he just knows that he needs Derek closer than this, needs to touch him and not wait any longer.

“No,” Derek says, his voice low. “I guess I’m not feeling so tired anymore.”

Stiles smiles slow, his heart already thudding in his chest. “Good,” he says, “Good.” He stands up and then Derek’s on his feet too, striding forward and kissing Stiles hard. Stiles whimpers against his mouth, hands flying to Derek’s hair. God, he doesn’t think he’s ever been kissed like this – like someone wants to do everything, everything they can with him.

He falls into it, and they stumble over each other’s feet to the bedroom. Stiles has never felt like this, so desperate to have his hands on someone else’s skin, Derek’s skin. Then he needs to breathe, gasping as he breaks their kiss.

“Oh God,” Stiles says, and Derek presses him against the bedroom wall, kissing his neck, sucking marks. “You’re – _ah –_ you’re really good at that.”

Derek chuckles against his pulse point, running his nose along Stiles’ skin before gently nipping there. Stiles’ breath hitches, and he already feels dizzy, not sure what to expect. He’s never done this with Derek before, but Derek’s hands are moving surely over him, slipping under his shirt.

Stiles stands there, knees weak, gripping at Derek’s shoulders.

Derek lifts his head, fingers skating across Stiles’ torso. He kisses Stiles again, softly, before slipping his tongue past Stiles’ lips. His palms are moving down Stiles’ body, slow enough that Stiles doesn’t notice when Derek reaches his belt.

Stiles doesn’t mean to but he tenses, hands letting go of Derek and trembling in the air.

Derek stops.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice rough.

“Nothing,” Stiles is quick to say. “Nothing.”

Derek drops his hands.

Stiles groans in frustration, wanting Derek’s touch again. This can’t stop; he doesn’t want it to stop. At least Derek is still in his space, so close that Stiles can feel the heat coming off him.

“Please,” Stiles says. “Just – I need you to touch me.”

Derek catches his hand, running a thumb across his skin. He waits for Stiles to speak.

“Fine,” he huffs. “It’s just, you’ve had sex with me before –”

“Lots of times,” Derek breathes, and the sound of his voice makes Stiles shiver.

“But I haven’t – and maybe you’re used to good sex with me, but it won’t be like that.” He lowers his voice to barely a whisper. “I’ve only had sex, like, half a dozen times! I’m just – I’m not very experienced.”

Derek pauses. He looks calm while Stiles freaks out, his nerves and embarrassment almost too much. But Derek comes even closer, pressing his lips to Stiles’ – just gently. His hands land on Stiles’ hips, thumbs running in circles, and he drags his stubble across Stiles’ cheek before he sucks below Stiles’ ear. He stays there until Stiles shudders.

“I do know all of this already,” Derek says.

“You do?” Stiles manages, as Derek makes patterns on his neck.

“Yes,” he says. “But if you’re worried that I’m more experienced with our sex life than you, I can always just tell you about it.” Derek pulls back, hesitating. “I know you don’t always like me telling you about stuff that’s happened, but I can...I can tell you about all the times I fucked you.” He pauses, and then there’s a hint of a smirk on his lips. “And all the times you fucked me.”

Stiles’ eyes go wide, and Derek’s are just as dark, pupils dilated.

His hands scramble at Derek’s shirt. “Fuck, tell me, Derek, tell me,” he says, but he kisses Derek before he can say anything, pushing him towards the bed. Stiles’ skin is hot and he finds himself wanting, wanting it all, not sure how to ask Derek for it except by kissing him harder.

They’re not slowing down, even though Stiles thinks they probably should. He feels Derek’s fingernails scratch across his back, feels the way Derek holds him, like he never wants Stiles to leave, like he’s afraid Stiles will disappear again.

They fall onto the bed and Stiles clutches at Derek, searching for his lips again.

“Stiles,” he says, pressing him into the mattress with his body, dropping his forehead to Stiles’. Stiles opens his eyes and Derek already looks like a mess, lips red and eyes dazed.

“Derek, I –” he manages, cupping Derek’s face, tracing his lips with his fingers. They stare at each other in the half light of the room. Stiles needs, he needs more than this, more than just Derek’s touch. Stiles is scared he’s going to lose this again, but he doesn’t know how to say it. He’s scared he’ll fuck it up and it won’t be the same for Derek as it was before, that Derek will somehow realize that Stiles isn’t someone he wants anymore. He swallows.

“I know,” Derek says, and he seems to understand what Stiles wants to say, even though the words are stuck in his own throat. It’s amazing and terrifying to know that they’re this close, that they’ve made it this far. “I know. It’s like that for me too.”

“It is?” Stiles says, voice small.

Derek nods, and he finds Stiles’ other hand, the one that isn’t caressing his face, and he clasps it tight. “Like it might all go away,” he whispers. “But you’re here. You’re here and I’m here.” He slowly rolls his hips down and Stiles gasps, feeling Derek hard through their clothes.

He’s not expecting how good that little bit of friction feels, and Derek’s wet lips brush against his. He arches his back, mindlessly thrusting his hips up in small, unpractised motions, searching for more.

Derek rocks back into him and Stiles doesn’t know what to do with himself. Their limbs move in a mess around each other, legs getting tangled, and Stiles wants too many things. He wants their clothes off, he wants skin on skin, but at the same time he doesn’t want this feeling to stop.

Stiles moans as Derek kisses him, tugging at Derek’s hair.

“I like it,” Derek says, voice muffled against Stiles’ mouth. “I like it when you do that.”

Stiles pulls his hair again, more forceful this time, and Derek groans, hips stuttering. He puts his weight on his hands, breathing hard as he looks Stiles in the eye.

“Why are you stopping – Derek –” Stiles says, frustrated. Derek looks fucking gorgeous and he’s no longer moving, not like how Stiles wants him to.

“Are you good?” Derek whispers, and Stiles just stares at him. He feels like he might burst, because he can’t get enough, won’t ever get enough. Stiles nods, a little too sharply, reaching for Derek’s shirt and tugging madly.

“Fuck, Derek, I can’t – help me,” he says, cheeks going red because this is supposed to be simple. Taking off their already sweaty clothes is supposed to be easy.

Derek leans back, and with trembling fingers Stiles helps him take off his shirt. Stiles doesn’t have time to stare, time to see how beautiful he is, before Derek is taking Stiles’ clothes off too. Stiles ducks his head when Derek stares at his body, curving in on himself.

“Hey,” Derek says. “Hey.” He places a kiss on Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles forgets that Derek has seen this before, has seen his naked body and his bare chest more times than Stiles knows. Derek likes it. He’s attracted to it. Slowly, Stiles tries to relax, letting Derek take off his pants and underwear.

Derek licks his lips, and Stiles gets a moment to breathe when Derek steps off the bed to discard the rest of his clothes.

“Oh, shit,” Stiles says, when he catches a glimpse of Derek’s naked body. How did he forget that? How did he forget what Derek looks like, standing there, hair dark on his chest and his cock flushed and hard?

Derek keeps his eyes on Stiles’ pale skin. “I have so much I want to do with you for the first time again,” he says, almost reverently, attention focused but soft.

Stiles bites his lip. He holds out his hands and Derek joins him on the bed again, the first touch of their bodies together simultaneously burning and blissful, too much and not enough at once.

“Still good?” Derek asks quietly.

“I – yeah,” he says, trying to kiss Derek again, trying to jerk his hips up so that their cocks run together. He’s desperate and even though he’s been with someone before, he doesn’t really know what he’s doing.

“It’s alright,” Derek says, “It’s okay. I’ll give you what you need, I promise. Just relax for me, okay,” he says, like he’s a virgin, like Stiles has never done this before in his life. And he hasn’t, he hasn’t ever been with someone like Derek, who cares about him, who knows exactly what it’s like to be with this body.

Stiles doesn’t have too much time to think or panic, because Derek is offering soft kisses over his face, calming. It takes a few moments before Stiles finally sighs, tilting his head back, closing his eyes and looping his arms over Derek’s shoulders.

The kisses trail over his jaw and down his chest, until Stiles feels his body go limp, legs spreading. Derek continues, slowing everything down until Stiles is moaning softly, too shy to be loud.

He feels Derek stop once his mouth reaches Stiles’ hipbone.

“Come on,” Stiles says, opening his eyes. Derek sits up, one hand on Stiles’ thigh.

“I want you to enjoy this,” he says quietly.

Stiles’ pulse is no longer screaming in his ears and now everything feels more deliberate, every touch means something more than the mad rush from before. It’s nice this way, and Stiles doesn’t feel as lost. He feels good. He feels like Derek is going to take care of him.

“I am, you’re perfect, honestly, please, keep going,” Stiles says, and there’s a hand on his cock, tugging gently, thumb trailing over the head. It’s much needed friction, and Derek licks his hand before wrapping it around Stiles, speeding up his movements.

“ _Yes_ , Derek, come here,” Stiles says, because Derek’s hand alone isn’t enough. The act is simple but Stiles has never touched someone while he’s felt so much. He needs Derek close. Derek shifts, aligning their bodies and cocks together, hands sweeping over Stiles’ skin.

It doesn’t take long after that. Derek doesn’t take his eyes off Stiles, like he can’t bring himself to, and it’s intense. It’s so fucking intense Stiles can’t think straight, closing his eyes.

“Stiles,” Derek whispers. “Stiles, look at me.”

Stiles sucks in a breath, feeling his orgasm building up. He’s close. Stiles lifts his gaze and their eyes lock and Derek’s eyelashes flutter. When Derek comes Stiles wishes so badly that he hadn’t forgotten the look of it, Derek’s jaw slack, his expression blissful, a cry on his lips. Stiles follows him soon after, feeling safe in Derek’s arms as he shudders.

Derek looks at him in a daze. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

Their breaths echo in the room and Stiles doesn’t know what to say. He can’t believe he’s here either, with Derek, and all he can think to do is lean forward and kiss him. Derek sighs against his mouth, ignoring the mess between them before they break apart. Derek drops his head to Stiles’ shoulder.

“Was that okay?” Stiles asks, suddenly nervous.

“Yes, Stiles,” Derek says, lips against his collarbone. “More than okay. It always is with you.”

Stiles pauses. “And it wasn’t too different?”

Derek blinks, a small frown on his lips. It takes him a while to speak. “I – Stiles, of course it’s _different_. It’s not better or worse because it’s you, but it is different. I haven’t been able to touch you for so long now. I thought you were never going to wake up. I’ve never felt for you more than I do now.”

“I know,” Stiles whispers. “I just – I want it to be good for you too.”

Derek shuffles closer to him. “It is. Don’t worry,” he says softly.

Stiles bites his lip, knowing that he’ll worry anyway, at least until he gets better at this. Derek smiles at him, like he knows what Stiles is thinking, and he drags Stiles to the bathroom to clean up instead of leaving him alone.

Derek collapses on the bed when they return to it, the day’s exhaustion finally hitting him. But he never stops touching Stiles, and finally, finally Derek’s not afraid to have an arm around him as they fall asleep. Something settles inside of Stiles, having Derek near.

“Stiles?” Derek mumbles against his neck.

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking – when we have a weekend free, that you could come and meet my parents,” he says, voice sleepy. “I’d like that.”

Stiles pauses, but instead of the fear that normally comes with something new, he feels warm and happily nervous. He wants to be a part of Derek’s family and meet them all properly. He wants to be liked as a son in law; he wants to make Derek happy.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles whispers back.

He feels Derek smile against his skin, his hold tightening. Then Derek’s dead to the world, breaths slowing down in the dark. Stiles hopes he has good dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I hope you liked the chapter. We are nearing the end!! <3 Lots of love to you all!!
> 
> I only have plans for one more chapter, but you never know!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to bleep0bleep for helping me throughout this whole fic :)

It’s a struggle to find a free weekend to visit Derek’s parents. The idea sits in the back of their minds as the weeks pass, and Stiles remembers Derek’s request, warm on the back of his neck.

As they wait for their schedules to clear Derek works, happily exhausted, and Stiles tries his best to write. Stiles thinks most of what he has is a bit of a mess, plot points and characters not always making sense inside his head. He knows his writing style isn’t as good, isn’t as coherent as his previous two novels.

Stiles understands that he’s lost years of practice, that his published works have been edited heavily, but it’s still hard not to hold himself to the same standards. He wants his books to be the best they can be.

Derek shuffles closer to him in their bed, dragging a hand up and down Stiles’ side. Outside the weather is harsh and loud, but their sheets are warm, Derek is warm, and Stiles feels safe from his own thoughts.

“Have you shown your editor anything?” Derek asks him quietly.

“Yeah,” Stiles sighs. “She – Jenny – she’s helpful. But I think I frustrate her a little bit. I’ve got a lot of bad habits she thought she had finally gotten rid of.”

Derek nods, eyes soft with understanding. He doesn’t say anything, simply keeps running his fingers along Stiles’ skin, under his shirt.

“But...”

“But?” Derek prompts, blinking tiredly. Stiles chances a smile at him, taking in the sight of his husband so close to him. They’re both lying on their sides, listening to the rain outside. There’s barely a foot of space between them and Stiles can’t help but feel lucky to have this, to have Derek.

“I – even though writing is fucking hard, I like it,” Stiles whispers. “I feel good.”

Derek’s lips press together in a smile and his chest rises. He looks so fucking proud of Stiles in this moment, and Stiles – he’s sort of proud of himself too. For all the thousands of words he writes and hates, there are whole passages that stand out and make him feel like he isn’t a failure. That he can do this.

Stiles reaches out and cups Derek’s face, dragging his thumb along Derek’s jaw. It’s nice to touch Derek simply because he can, and it’s getting easier all the time. He’s still nervous – every press of skin is still exciting and terrifying, but Derek accepts his worry and he helps to make it go away.

“Maybe I’ll let you read it sometime soon,” Stiles says.

“Only if you want to,” Derek whispers. “I meant it when I said that.”

“I know,” Stiles says, leaning forward. He brings their mouths together for a soft, slow kiss. Stiles traces Derek’s lips with his tongue, feeling Derek sigh against him, and then Derek pulls Stiles on top of him, moving his hands to Stiles’ ass.

Stiles can’t get enough of the way their bodies fit together – and he wants more. They haven’t done much, have kept the pace of their sex life slow because being together can still be overwhelming. Derek seems to know how to touch him, know how to make his body feel good, and Stiles wishes it was the same the other way around. He hasn’t learnt Derek yet, and he wants to.

Derek yawns against Stiles’ mouth, his breath hot at the edge of Stiles’ cheek.

“Come on,” Stiles says, laughing. “We should sleep.”

He slides off Derek and with the flick of a switch, the room goes dark. Derek reaches for him immediately, arm snaking around Stiles’ waist. Stiles puts his hand over Derek’s, breathing slowly, more content than he thought he’d ever be.

\--

“I take it things are going well with Derek,” says Scott, over the phone.

Stiles bites back a smile, feeling his chest expand. “Yeah,” he says. “He’s – he’s, fuck, Scott, it’s so much better than I ever thought it was going to be. You know when I woke up, I didn’t know how important he’d be to me. He was just Derek Hale. And now...”

He can almost hear Scott smiling. “I’m so happy for the both of you.”

“Me too.”

“Hey, Stiles?” he asks.

“Yeah?”

“Lydia has told me about all the interview offers from all those news stations,” he says.

Stiles swallows, his throat tight. “I don’t want to do any of them.”

“You don’t have to,” Scott says quickly. “It’s just – your fans. I know it might be difficult to understand your relationship with them, but maybe you could let them know you haven’t given up on your books.”

“What?”

“You said you were writing again?” Scott asks.

“Yes,” he says. “But it’s not like it’s always easy.”

He hears Scott chuckle slightly. “Dude, I can only imagine. But Kira had this idea, you’re a writer, maybe you could write a blog post on your website or something?”

Stiles pauses. That’s – that’s not entirely a bad idea. It would mean the media would get off his back about being silent, it would mean that he’d get to read over his words and make sure he was saying exactly what he wanted to say.

And Scott is right. He doesn’t understand his relationship with his fans. He barely lets himself think about the fact people actually read his books beside Derek and the rest of his family, but he supposes he wouldn’t be here without them. He probably wouldn’t have met Derek without the success of _Crown for a Criminal._

“I’ll think about it,” Stiles says.

“Cool,” Scott tells him. “It’s only an idea. Kira says hi. And your father is coming around for dinner tonight, so he’s well looked after.”

“Thanks Scott,” Stiles says. “You’re the best.”

“I’m just glad to have you back,” he says, “And out of the hospital and happy with Derek. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says.

He’s at home, Derek at the set, and Stiles sits in front of his laptop to work on his novel. He tries to concentrate, tries to figure out exactly how the chapter will play out. But all he does is open a new document and think about what Scott had said.

Writing is supposed to be his thing, and it shouldn’t be too hard to come up with something to say, something to tell the world. Stiles wonders how many people will actually want to read a blog post of his and if it will make him feel better to write it.

He’s sort of sick of having to live his life away from the city, stuck between the movie set and his apartment with only the occasional outing. Maybe if he puts a little bit of himself out there it will be easier to step outside, it will mean that the reporters will lose some interest in him.

He’ll be less of an aloof celebrity who lost his memories and ended up married to Derek Hale.

Stiles picks up his phone, and he hears Lydia’s careful voice in his ear.

“I think it’s a good idea,” she says.

“You do?”

“It’s a lot better than all this speculation,” Lydia tells him.

“But won’t it just encourage more speculation?” Stiles asks her, looking at the bright glare of his computer screen.

“At first, yes,” she says. Then her voice goes soft. “I do think you should do it, Stiles. Make sure you send a draft to me first.”

“I will,” he says. “How are you holding up?”

Lydia stays quiet for a second. Stiles wonders exactly what’s going through her head, but she finally clears her throat, pretending she didn’t have to think about her answer. “I’m fine. Honestly.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, “That’s good.” He hides his sigh, knowing that Lydia’s a little bit lonely. They get together every week outside of meetings and talk about business, but Stiles knows that Lydia still misses what she could have had with Cora.

He lets her go, and somehow the words he wants to say start at his fingertips and end up shining on the screen in front of him.

\--

Derek looks him in the eye. “Are you sure you want to post this?”

“Y-yes?” Stiles says from across the room, clutching his laptop. Lydia’s given him the go ahead. Stiles has written about filming the second movie, about the support he has from Derek and the people closest to him. He’s mentioned how his third book might take forever to write, but that it’s happening slowly.

He doesn’t clear up the truth – he doesn’t want that, and Stiles feels that he deserves his own secrets. Some of his memories are gone, everyone knows that, but he doesn’t have to say how much.

There are so many things he doesn’t have to say, and Stiles likes that. He feels that here he’s in control. He doesn’t have pesky questions from interviewers; he doesn’t have people shouting in his face.

Stiles shrugs. “I kind of want to do this on my own terms,” he says. “Instead of me just hiding.”

Derek nods. God, he’s dealt with this almost all his life, so of course he knows how Stiles feels about the media and how awful they can be. “It doesn’t mean it’s the end,” he says softly. “There will always be people staring at us, as long as we’re somewhat successful.”

“I know,” Stiles says, voice firm. “I know. But we’ve got each other, right?”

Derek bites his lip, but his eyes are serious. “Definitely,” he says.

Stiles walks over to him and opens his laptop. They both sit on the couch and see Stiles’ words staring at them, the draft blog post already in place. Stiles swallows.

“Better make sure there are no typos,” Stiles mutters.

Derek raises an eyebrow. “This has gone through at least three other people. There are no typos.”

Stiles presses the post button. He hasn’t asked for support from his fans, but he hopes he gets it. Stiles closes the laptop before he can see a single comment on the post and he turns to Derek.

“Is that free weekend happening anytime soon?” he asks. “I think we could both use a break.”

Derek smiles back at him.

\--

The response is overwhelmingly positive. Stiles doesn’t read much of it, but Scott and his father show him particularly nice things to read. There are some other celebrities, some other people Stiles has definitely heard of but not sure he’s ever met, offering their support too.

It’s almost surreal.

When Stiles visits the movie set he gets an awful lot of congratulations and pats on the back. He’s not sure he deserves it, because he’s just trying to live his fucking life. He’s trying to acknowledge the fact he’s in the public eye even though when he woke up in the hospital it was the last thing he expected.

Erica smiles widely at him. “I’m proud of you, Stilinski. I knew you’d figure it all out.”

Stiles snorts. He’s far from figuring everything out, but he feels a lot less in the dark than he did a few months ago.

“And Derek told me you’re visiting his parents this weekend,” she says. Then Erica pauses, nibbling her lip, looking like she wants to say something.

“What?”

She shakes her head, smiling weakly. “Never mind.”

Stiles eyes her carefully. “This weekend is the only couple of days we have free for what seems like ages,” he says.

“Oh. Well. You two have fun! I hope it goes well.”

Stiles looks at his feet. “Do you think Derek’s parents will like me?”

Erica’s eyes go fond and she pulls him into a one armed hug. “Of course, Stiles. They already do, you know.”

Stiles tries to believe her. No matter how many times he’s got to go through this, with each person he meets, he’s still desperately worried what they will think of him. It’s even worse because it’s Derek’s _parents_ this time. Stiles wants their approval. He wants to be liked.

The weekend approaches and then their bags are packed. Derek’s eyes look a little distant when they’re at the apartment door, waiting for Frank to turn up.

Stiles blinks at him, nudging his arm. “You okay?”

It takes a moment, but Derek lifts his gaze to Stiles’. “Yeah,” he whispers. “You?”

“I’m a bit nervous,” he admits.

“They’re excited to meet you,” he says. “And Cora will be there.”

“Right.”

“She wants to see you again,” Derek says.

Stiles nods. He was sort of expecting that. Then Frank’s there and they drag their luggage to the car. The ride to the airport seems long and Derek stares out the window. There’s a slight slump to his shoulders, but it goes away when Derek remembers that Stiles is watching him, a soft smile appearing at his lips.

Stiles frowns. They’ve been looking forward to this weekend for some time, and he’d at least thought that Derek would be excited for it.

“I’ll see you when you get back,” Frank tells them when they get to the airport. He glances at Derek. “Try not to get in any trouble.”

“We won’t,” Derek assures.

“No promises,” Stiles grins. “Thanks, Frank.”

Derek falls asleep on the flight but Stiles can’t. He’s too busy worrying about meeting the rest of Derek’s family, too busy wondering if they’ll like the Stiles that he is now. They probably remember the way Stiles left Derek alone over the holidays, left him without the promise of coming back.

But he’s here now. He’s here, and Derek looks so sweet next to him, eyes closed and lips parted. It’s nice having a flight where they’re mostly alone, instead of having to settle for cheap tickets like Stiles used to.

Stiles is twitchy all the way from the airport to the Hale house. They drive out of the town, down long roads and past many trees until they reach a large property. Outside the stars are clear in the sky and Stiles looks out the window, trying to keep his breaths steady as they get closer and closer to the place Derek grew up.

“It’s really in the middle of nowhere,” Stiles says.

“Kind of,” Derek says. “It was a nice place to be as a kid.”

Stiles swallows when they see the outline of a large house. It looks even more overwhelming without any other houses surrounding it, and they have to stop at a gate before they’re let in.

“Oh God.”

Derek reaches out and squeezes his knee. “They’ll love you. They already do.”

It’s hard to believe, just like it was hard to believe that Derek still loved him. Stiles’ hands shake when they exit the car and it’s only a second before a tall woman with dark hair steps out of the house, her arms wide open.

“Stiles!” she calls out.

Stiles ducks his head. “Hi,” he mumbles. She’s already hugging him. Stiles lifts his arms up, confused, but he pats Derek’s mother on the back. She holds on for a little too long, and over her shoulder Stiles sees that Derek’s expression has turned fond.

Stiles stares at his husband, not sure what to say or do.

“Mom,” Derek says, and she pulls back. There’s a tear in her eye and Stiles stands there, frozen, not sure what she sees when she looks at him.

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Hale,” Stiles says awkwardly, shuffling on his feet.

She raises an eyebrow, and looks over at Derek. “ _Talia_ ,” she says, something flickering in her eyes. Stiles has seen that expression a lot, that realization that Stiles really, truly doesn’t remember all the times together he had with that person.

Talia’s hands are still on his shoulders, and she squeezes them. “You look very healthy,” she says. “I’m glad you two boys are taking care of each other.”

Stiles feels his cheeks go pink. Talia looks like Derek and she’s beautiful. She’s staring at him with a motherly affection, and Stiles isn’t used to it. He kind of never thought he’d get that again and his throat is tight.

“ _Mom_ ,” Derek says again.

“Sorry,” she says, dropping her hands. Talia reaches for her own son, pulling him into a hug. “I promised I wouldn’t be too overbearing.”

“It’s okay,” Stiles manages.  He watches Derek close his eyes as he wraps his arms around his mother, glad to see her.

Stiles meets Derek’s father – Jack – a few minutes later, and he seems to hold his promise a little better than his wife. All he does is shake Stiles’ hand, clapping him on the shoulder – looking sad and happy to see him all at once.

Derek’s parents are both glad he’s here, that he’s alive. They’re both sad that he doesn’t remember them. It’s weird. It’s definitely weird having this whole other family, people who seem to care about him as much as Scott and his own father do.

Stiles likes it. He likes the way they treat him like he’s normal, instead of fretting about what he does or doesn’t know. They forget the simple things and Derek has to gently tell Stiles where the bathroom is, where the bedroom they normally stay in is. Stiles finds that he doesn’t mind so much.

“Sorry,” Derek tells him. They’re alone again in a guest bedroom. Apparently Derek’s childhood bedroom had been redecorated to hold most of the awards he’s won over the years. Everything except the Oscar that’s hidden in their own apartment. “I told them you wouldn’t know this stuff but –”

“Hey,” Stiles says. “They’re clearly overwhelmed to see me. It’s okay that they forgot.”

Derek frowns. “It must be strange. Being here.”

Stiles shrugs. He steps towards Derek, pecks him lightly on the lips. In a moment Derek’s arms circle his waist. All of a sudden Stiles doesn’t mind that he’s in an unfamiliar room. “I’m getting used to it,” he says. “My life has been strange since I woke up in that damn hospital.”

Derek shudders against him, and Stiles wonders what it was like thinking that the person you loved would never wake up.

“Let’s get downstairs,” Derek says. “My mother’s not above coming and looking for us.”

Stiles chuckles. “Good to know.”

He holds Derek’s hand as they walk down the hallways, moving slowly. All along the walls are family photos – of Derek and Cora as kids, along with another girl who must be Laura. Then there are photos of Derek’s early success as an actor and it warms Stiles to see them. Stiles knew of that Derek, back when he was growing up. He remembers Derek’s stupid spiky hair and his too wide grin.

“Like what you see?” Derek teases, watching him.

“You – you already know I had a celebrity crush on you,” Stiles says. “Right?”

Derek looks amused as he nods.

“How are you not embarrassed by all these photos of yourself as a kid on your wall?” Stiles asks.

“Well, it helps that your father has already shown me all of your baby photos,” he says smugly. Stiles feels his face go red, and Derek laughs, tugging him towards where his parents are waiting.

Talia and Jack look at their joined hands and at the smile that’s on Derek’s face.  They both seem pleased – and surprised – because the last time they saw their son Derek would’ve been close to broken.

But they don’t say anything. They don’t mention at all Stiles’ absence over Christmas.

“We saw your blog post,” Jack says. “We thought it was very brave.”

“Oh, thanks,” Stiles says, pleased, glancing between the two of them. He doesn’t think his words were very brave, but eventually he needed to say something to the public. He needed to accept that there were people out there, whether he liked it or not, who wanted to know about his life. If he accepted that then maybe it would be easier to live it.

“Well, we’re very happy you haven’t given up on your books. Or our son,” Jack adds quickly. “He’s a good kid.”

Derek groans next to him, but it’s nice to have parents that embarrass you. Stiles knows what they mean anyway; Derek is a good, good man. And Derek is his.

\--

The next morning the sun hits the curtains and there’s a soft glow to the room. Stiles wakes up alone in their bed, stretching out to find that the spot where Derek slept is cold.

It’s strange not being able to hear Derek’s footsteps, almost unsettling. Stiles stumbles out of bed and it takes him a while to find the kitchen, even after being fed there last night.

He follows the sound of voices but as he gets closer all Stiles can hear is muffled arguing. He pauses by the kitchen door and he sees three people.

“Oh, you’re awake!” says Cora, beginning to smile. The other two fall quiet almost immediately and Stiles doesn’t miss the way Derek shoots a pleading look towards his mother and sister.

Talia looks concerned, but Cora purses her lips, narrowing her eyes at her brother. Then she lifts her gaze to Stiles.

“Sleep well?” she asks, striding over.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles says, looking at all of them.

Cora sighs dramatically. “Nothing, Derek’s just being an idiot.”

“Cora,” Talia says, and she ignores her, taking the last few steps to Stiles. Cora looks hopeful for a second, biting her lip. They both know that the last time they saw each other it hadn’t exactly been pleasant.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says seriously.

Stiles blinks.

“You and Derek both seem much happier now, and, and I’m glad,” she says.

Stiles still feels like his brain is a little fuzzy from sleep, but he manages to nod at her. Cora stands with her hands by her sides, waiting, but it’s all Stiles can give her now. Maybe by the end of the weekend he’ll be on better terms with her.

Stiles searches for Derek’s eyes across the room, tilting his head in question. He wants to know what they were talking about.

Derek shakes his head. His small smile says that there’s nothing to worry about, but Stiles can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong. There’s something wrong and he doesn’t know what it is.

“I thought I could show you the grounds today,” Derek says. “And the rest of the house.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “I’d like that.”

His stomach rumbles loudly.

“Breakfast first, though!” Talia tells them. “We were waiting for you to wake up, Stiles, but we have pancakes and bacon and fresh fruit.”

“Sounds good,” he says, grinning back.

No one lets him help with anything, so Stiles just sits there answering question after question as breakfast is served. It starts to get tiring, having to think so quickly, but the questions aren’t about what he remembers and what he doesn’t. They’re little things that always come up at family reunions – how’s your job, how’s the apartment, how’s the city – all things that Stiles could’ve been asked when he was twenty one.

Cora sits beside him, listening to him talk. It’s like she’s learnt her lesson and she’s not trying to scare Stiles away with the first words she says. Slowly, Stiles starts to relax. The room is warm, the company is nice. Stiles nudges his foot against Derek’s leg under the table, dragging his toes along Derek’s calf.

Derek stills, looking up at him. Stiles smiles. He already feels like he’s a part of Derek’s family. He feels it not because of lost memories he doesn’t understand, but because Derek loves him and so his parents love Stiles too.

“You good?” Derek mouths.

Stiles nods, and he keeps his foot pressed against Derek’s for the rest of the meal.

\--

The weekend is lovely, more than Stiles was expecting. Jack and Talia like him, even seem to trust him, and the house is big and private. Stiles can walk around outside, the fresh air sharp in his nose, without the fear of wandering eyes. It’s a little bit of freedom and Stiles is grateful for it.

Outside he walks hand in hand with Derek, Cora joining them. She’s friendlier than Stiles is used to and he’s slowly warming up to her. Stiles talks to her as they walk because next to him, Derek barely says a word.

Stiles squeezes his hand. Derek turns to him, smiles, and then looks away.

It’s the last day of their small trip. Stiles feels Derek growing more and more distant the longer they stay here and Stiles can’t understand it. He drops Derek’s hand.

They get back inside and Derek sits down at the kitchen table, a glass of water in front of him. He seems lost in his own head, barely talking to Stiles or his sister, and Stiles’ chest aches. He needs to know what’s making his husband act like this.

Stiles places his hands on Derek’s shoulders from behind, and he jumps.

“What’s wrong?” he says, bending down to speak in Derek’s ear. He’s aware of Cora at the edge of the room, watching them. “You’ve been very quiet.”

“Nothing,” Derek says quickly, sliding his chair back. The sound of it against the floor is awful and Stiles has to move out of the way. Derek finishes his glass of water, turns around, and he kisses Stiles on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it,” he whispers.

Derek leaves the room.

Stiles stares at him, wide eyed. He’s sure that Derek’s keeping something from him, has been keeping it from him all weekend. All at once Stiles thinks things he knows he shouldn’t, thinks that maybe Derek doesn’t feel that Stiles actually belongs with his family. That it’s not the same as it was before.

Stiles knows it’s not true, because Stiles has never felt more welcomed in his life, but he can’t help but feel it for a moment. He collapses to the table as soon as Derek’s out of sight.

“Fuck,” he whines. He hides his head in his hands.

Cora sighs, stepping over to him.                          

Stiles’ body shakes with frustration. He feels so useless, he feels like he should know what’s wrong with Derek, he should know why this weekend seems like there’s something missing to it.

“The Stiles before would’ve known,” he says, almost madly. “He would’ve known how to fix this.”

Stiles lifts his head and glares at Derek's sister.  Cora’s eyes are on him, her mouth closed. Something’s telling him that she knows what’s going on. She’s been sending sharp looks to Derek all weekend, especially when she thinks Stiles can’t see her do it.

“The Stiles before would’ve known,” he says again, desperately. It’s too hard not to compete with himself.

“Oh my God,” Cora says. “You’re giving yourself too much credit. Yeah, you’re pretty great and you make Derek happy – when you’re not being stupid – but like, you’re not super human. You didn’t know how to fix every problem before the accident. You had ups and downs. It wasn’t perfect for you and Derek. But you made it work and you’re the same person so you can make this work too.”

Stiles’ nostrils flare. It’s – it’s hard to hear what Cora is saying. How could he have not had the answers back then either? Before, he had his fucking memories. He knew Derek well enough to _marry_ him.

“Tell me,” Stiles croaks. “Tell me why he’s like this.”

Cora says nothing.

“I know you know,” Stiles says, biting his lip. He doesn’t want to cry in front of her. Stiles doesn’t want to cry at all but he’s so in the dark and he doesn’t know how to handle it. “Please.”

Cora purses her lips. “He made us promise not to tell you.”

“I don’t care!” Stiles yells, and Cora flinches. He’s glad this house is big enough that Derek’s parents won’t hear him. He can’t afford to disappoint them.

The silence between them rests on a pinpoint after Stiles’ outburst. All he can hear is his own shaky breathing, and then Cora’s voice carries in the room.

“It’s your anniversary,” she says.

“What?” his voice breaks.

“Your wedding anniversary.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say. He looks down at his finger, at the ring he still wears. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?” he whispers, even though he thinks he knows the answer. “Why didn’t Derek tell me?”

Cora throws him a look. “I distinctly remember you hating when anyone brought up anything to do with the past, especially Derek,” she says, though her voice turns kind at the end, like she’s at least trying to understand what’s going through his head.

“I’m getting better,” Stiles whispers. “I am.”

Cora half smiles at him. “That’s good.”

But it hasn’t been enough. “Shit,” Stiles says, feeling pathetic. He gets up and turns towards the door Derek disappeared through. His fingers are trembling and he has to go find Derek. He has to do something.

He walks and with each step he thinks he’s going to fall over. When he reaches the door Cora’s voice stops him.

“Hey,” Cora says. Stiles turns to her. “Before you go. I want to say sorry and I want to say thanks.”

Stiles blinks. “What for?”

She bites her lip, and Stiles’ hand hovers over the door handle. He’s sort of grateful for the fact he doesn’t have to face Derek just yet, but his head is screaming at him to get out of here and fix things. He can’t lose Derek. He can’t lose Derek because he didn’t fucking know it was their anniversary.

“Um,” she says. “I’m sorry for making your life even more miserable when I visited you before Christmas. I’m sorry I didn’t try and understand what you were going through. All I saw was Derek and...and he sounded worse than when you first got into that stupid car accident.”

Stiles says nothing.

“And thank you, for, well,” she smiles, ducking her head. “Lydia texted me. I wondered maybe if you had something to do with it, being here.”

Stiles stares at her, unable to process anything. “I didn’t do anything,” he says.

“Oh.”

“Don’t you dare hurt her again,” Stiles says. All Cora got was a text, but he doesn’t want to see Lydia upset and lonely, even if she can take care of herself. Stiles wonders if Cora felt like this – so fiercely protective – about her brother when Stiles first got out of the hospital. Then Stiles thinks he doesn’t have time to care. He’s got to go find Derek.

He leaves without another word, heading into the cool air outside. It’s early evening and the sky is turning a heavy blue. Derek stands at the edge of the garden, back to the house.

Stiles slowly walks over. He knows Derek can hear his footsteps

“Cora told you,” Derek says quietly.

“Yeah,” he croaks.

Stiles inhales, waiting for Derek to turn around. He stuffs his hands in his pockets with no idea what to say. Two years married together doesn’t mean much to Stiles. All he has is a few painful, beautiful months. It’s long enough to know he wants to be with Derek forever but it’s not the same thing as a marriage. Stiles knows that.

Derek faces him and immediately drops his head, a tear falling down his cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I – I thought I could forget about it and that this weekend would be perfect anyway, but today hit me harder than I thought it would.” Derek looks up, his eyes wet and shining. “I had all these stupid, romantic ideas and I was going to buy you flowers and we were going to go away –”

Derek stops. Stiles’ eyes are wide, horrified. He’s sure Derek is going to say something he doesn’t want to hear.

“I just – I guess I’m just sad,” he says. “Because you wouldn’t want that anymore.”

Stiles’ throat feels dry. He doesn’t know what he wants. He doesn’t know if he wants to celebrate today if he can’t remember why they should be celebrating. He hasn’t had long enough to think about it.

“Sometimes,” Derek whispers, voice hoarse. He takes a step closer and Stiles’ muscles tense. “You’re the same person to me Stiles, so wonderful and beautiful but I sometimes miss ... not before. But I miss being able to talk with you about before. I miss being able to remember it without feeling like I’m going to push you away.”

Stiles feels his eyes prickle with tears. Derek looks at him sadly, face pained, like he knows he’s voicing some of Stiles’ fears.

“Derek –”

“Is it wrong for me to say that?” Derek whispers, when Stiles can’t say more.

Stiles shrugs, letting out a broken laugh. “Fuck, I don’t know Derek. I can’t help you there; I can’t help you if you miss back then so badly. I guess you’ll have to settle for your second choice.”

Derek’s eyes go wide. “ _No_ ,” he says, voice so harsh that Stiles jumps. Derek’s hands reach out to Stiles’ arms, rubbing up and down. It makes Stiles feel a little better. “No. You’re – you’re you, Stiles. I love you. I choose you, always. I don’t miss before. I miss before being _ours_. Now it’s just mine and I want it to be ours again, even if you don’t remember it at all.”

Stiles exhales and lets himself be drawn in for a hug. Warm arms wrap around him and Stiles hides his face in Derek’s chest, barely returning the embrace. Stiles breathes Derek in, trying to stay calm. He’s gained so much since he woke up, falling for Derek, figuring out how lovely and bright and great he is, but Stiles has still lost so much.

After a while Stiles pulls back. Only a few tears have made it down his face.

“I love you,” he says.

Derek’s lips part, eyes searching over Stiles’ face. He looks like he’s in a daze, chest rising and falling. He looks surprised. It feels like Stiles is giving everything of himself to Derek, because he hasn’t said this to Derek before.

Derek’s heard it before, he must have, but Stiles has never said it.

They stare at each other, Stiles swallowing over the lump in his throat. He doesn’t know how to make things better especially since this moment feels oddly bittersweet. But it’s the truth. He loves Derek. He didn’t love him when he woke up in the hospital, but he does now.

 And then Derek’s smiling, wiping the back of his hand over his eyes.

“I really hoped that I’d get to hear you say that again.”

“What?”

“You’re always worried that I can’t love you, that you’re too different when you’re not. But I was worried that you wouldn’t ever feel that way about me again,” Derek says, taking another step closer. “Especially when we could barely talk to each other.”

“I guess we’re both kind of stupid,” Stiles admits. He licks his lips. They taste like the salt from his tears, but seeing the happiness bubble behind Derek’s eyes at Stiles’ words, well – it makes him feel better. He holds out his hand.

Stiles clears his throat. “I know it’s not as important for me, but I can see that our anniversary is important for you so maybe we can do something? You know that I don’t – that I don’t want to relive anything exactly, that I want new memories, but you can share this with me. I want you to.”

“I can share it with you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles nods. “I don’t want you to have to forget your life too. Fuck, Derek, you scared me so much. You can – you can tell me anything okay? I’ll get over it. I’ll – I can hear it, you can tell me.”

“Thank you,” he breathes. And Stiles knows that Derek won’t make things too hard for him. He’ll ease into it, he’ll bring up their past carefully. But at least he won’t hide anything like he hid this day, their anniversary.

Derek is still smiling, like he can’t help himself. He reaches for Stiles’ hand, thumb stroking Stiles’ skin. “Can I show you where I proposed to you? I’d like that,” he admits. “It’s where my Dad proposed to my Mom.”

Stiles nods. His steps feel shaky but he lets Derek lead him to a small clearing, their fingers tangled together. Derek’s probably hit with memories as soon as he walks past the trees. It’s gone dark by now, the stars pretty and bright so far out from the city.

Stiles sees nothing but the rich green of the leaves on the trees, the long strands of grass that haven’t been mowed for some time. But there’s no recollection of a memory, and Stiles wonders if it hurts Derek to see that there’s only blankness in his eyes. Stiles can imagine it though, Derek on one knee. It would’ve been happy.

“I played here a lot as a kid,” he says. “Before I got a part on that stupid TV show.”

Stiles says nothing.

Maybe there are before and afters, always. Maybe even if everyone remembers everything you still want to go back. Nostalgia.

Maybe Stiles and Derek will have to work a little harder than most people to move forward, to be happy, and to not get lost in the past. Maybe it’s going to be worth it. The smooth planes of Derek’s face, the shine of his eyes and the gentleness of his touch all say it is.

“What if my memories come back? What if it changes everything? I know the doctor says it’s impossible.”

“Hey,” Derek soothes. “We figured this out; we can figure that out, too.” He pauses. “I should’ve told you about today.”

Stiles looks at him. “Probably.”

“I didn’t want to upset you or put pressure on you to do something,” Derek says.

“I know,” Stiles says. He smiles gently, reaching out to cup Derek’s cheek.

Their foreheads touch first, then their noses, before finally their lips brush together. Derek sighs against Stiles’ mouth and wraps his arms around his waist.

They almost sway in the night air, the drag of their lips slow and deep. Stiles still isn’t used to kissing Derek and feeling so much, but it’s the safest he’s felt all night. It’s their first kiss after Stiles has said _I love you_ , and it shows. Stiles feels it all over his skin.

Stiles kisses Derek harder. He can’t help himself, biting at Derek’s lip. He doesn’t know how long they stand there pressed together, but it’s long enough for the air to get too cold despite Derek’s arms around him. It’s long enough that Stiles is half hard in his pants.

Derek breaks away and his eyes are dark. The moon shines above them.

“I want,” Derek says, voice trailing off.

Stiles looks at him, but Derek is already tugging him towards the house. His heart jumps in his chest and he follows in a daze. Everything is too quiet and Stiles gasps when they get inside and Derek kisses him hard in an empty room.

It takes some time before they get to their bedroom, kissing in the hallways and trying not to knock down photographs. They miraculously don’t run into anyone and Stiles is lost in how Derek feels against him, his large hands over Stiles’ body.

They break apart for air and Derek quickly unbuttons his own shirt. He looks nervously at Stiles.

“What is it?” Stiles whispers.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says, voice hoarse, like he’s afraid Stiles won’t want it.

Stiles bites his lip, toeing off his shoes. He feels a dizzying heat pass through his body at Derek’s request and Stiles is scared.

“I haven’t done that before,” he says.

Derek stares at him. “What?”

Stiles’ breath catches, trying not to think about what Derek’s surprise means. He pushes past it and lifts his hands to his own belt, slowly removing the rest of his clothes until he’s standing naked in front of Derek.

Derek’s eyes don’t leave him and he stands there half dressed, waiting for Stiles’ response.

“But I want to,” Stiles says, shivering.

Derek steps forward and kisses him again, hands tangling in his hair. “I’ll take care of you, I’ll make it good for you,” he promises.

Stiles clutches at him.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing, not really, not when Stiles wants it all to happen perfectly. But they go slowly and Derek shows him what to do, spread out beautifully on the bed. Stiles can barely believe what he’s seeing, what he’s hearing, Derek’s sighs and moans lovely in the air at the touch of Stiles’ fingers.

When he’s ready Derek says he wants to look at Stiles, wants to see his face the first time they do this together.

Stiles has to close his eyes. He’s never felt anything like this, but it’s perfect. It’s perfect because it’s Derek and Stiles stops worrying that he’s doing it wrong when he opens his eyes to find Derek’s expression blissful.

After, Derek falls sleep first, like he does most nights. It warms Stiles to know that Derek feels safe and warm and comfortable to fall asleep so quickly, their legs pressed against each other’s under the sheets.

Stiles lies awake, body satisfied and exhausted. He remembers their evening conversation and wonders if Derek is going to stop looking back with longing. Stiles thinks the thought will drive himself crazy some nights, with Derek next to him in their bed and Stiles’ heartbeat so loud that he wonders if Derek can hear it.

Derek shifts closer to him in the dark, a hand resting on Stiles’ hip in his sleep. Then Stiles relaxes, listening to Derek breathe. He’s allowed to look back, to remember, and Stiles wouldn’t wish for anyone to forget their life.

He thinks his fears might be unfounded. Derek already looks fond rather than sad when he recalls a memory of theirs. It’s like he wants Stiles to know it, rather than to relive it or have the memory come back for him.

It’s all about getting the right balance of the past and the future and now. Just like any other couple. Stiles doesn’t want to lose Derek again, in any sort of way, and he’s never felt so deeply, so fully for someone.

He will finish his novel – even if he doesn’t know how long it will take – and he’ll have Derek by his side. Maybe he’ll see if Derek wants to get their vows renewed. Stiles thinks he’d like that. They can invite this new family that Stiles has, as well as his own.

Stiles’ heart doesn’t feel like it’s going to break, and Stiles rolls into Derek’s space. He presses his back against Derek’s chest, hiding his smile in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's the end!!
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading :) I really liked writing this fic and I appreciate all your support!
> 
> I haven't written Stiles getting his memories back - when I started writing this fic that was my first thought, an amnesia fic where the memories don't return. Of course, it is up to you whether or not Stiles' memories will return after the fic ends, and it is up to you about how that will happen :) :) :) but I believe they can both be happy without them :)
> 
> Thank you again!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! You can find me on [tumblr](http://matildajones.tumblr.com):)


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